A Resistance
by Nenalata
Summary: The island of Tangen was a myth, a safe haven for apostates. Only recently has the Hero of Fereldan heard news of a group of darkspawn beneath this island of legend. And now, the non-mages of Tangen are rebelling...Spoilers!
1. Uprising

**A/N: Hi, Dragon Age (which doesn't belong to me) fans! Inspiration hit me painfully when I was listening to Muse's album The Resistance (neither of which I own), so I decided to apply my idea to Dragon Age instead of putting forth effort and doing something original. There will be ten chapters in all, hopefully with a high word count each, so stay tuned, cuz these'll be updated fairly quickly...for me. I'm using my Warden's name because it's her character in this story; I usually don't like doing that, but who cares. By the way, Alistair, stop appearing in my stories. He won't go away...Yeah. So expect those two, as well as a lot of made-up characters. A lot. And a few canon characters...**

**Please review and tell me what you think so far, as well as criticism, missed typos, etc.**

In the very first Age, an elven apostate and maleficarum known as Tangen fled from his pursuing templars by freezing the ocean and running across it. It is unknown whether or not he had a plan in this, but whether or not he did, he was saved. After nearly twenty-four hours of using exhausting spells and forcing his weak feet to move, Tangen came across an island seemingly in the middle of nowhere. He was quite a distance away from the templars, but because they had his phylactery, he did not expect to remain free for long. However, a curious thing happened—as soon as Tangen threw himself onto this land, his phylactery shattered in the Knight-Commander's hand, and though they searched and searched for him, he was never seen again, and his would-be kidnappers were forced to sail home empty-handed.

It might have been believed that the elf had simply drowned if after this event, other apostates or blood mages hadn't attempted to make his same journey. Many of them—those that weren't powerful enough—were simply caught by the Chantry and executed. But the strongest mages simply seemed to vanish, their phylacteries breaking after they'd been fleeing for quite a while. The story of the island Tangen—as it had been named—was passed through the apostate network, enticing the strongest and the weakest hiding mages to travel across the ocean. And, though one way or another these brave or foolish mages were never seen again, criminal spell-casters and persecuted Dalish keepers from Antiva, Fereldan, Orlais and Rivain have been chasing after this myth for centuries.

But Tangen is not a myth. It exists, floating unmapped in some distant sea, and the mages that managed to make it there thrived.

Tangen is a perfect place for apostates, maleficarum, or just plain old mages tired of living under the Chantry's thumb. The descendants of the original Tangens all practice their magic without a glaring, faceless templar watching them do so. The island, while lacking veins of the mineral lyrium, has quarries, forests and freshwater streams enough to build a city complete with universities and libraries and homes and estates and other monuments, like the Unstable House.

The Unstable House, contrary to its name, is built like a fortress, because that is essentially what it is. It's common knowledge that, while children of mages are often born with a connection to the Fade, not all of these children are so lucky. While back in the Maker-fearing world mages are, to put it bluntly, locked up and the regular people simply go about their lives, Tangen decided that things needed to change on his island once people kept arriving and families kept springing up. Children without magical abilities were unstable, he argued. With a mage, you know how they will fight, and if you're knowledgeable, you can predict what spells they will use. But the "normal" are unpredictable, because they could pick up a sword or a few knives or a battleax or a hammer or use their fists, thus changing how you approach them in a fight entirely. He made all kinds of points like that, persuading the mages (most of whom still remembered with anger the way they were treated at the Circles) that an ungifted child must be locked away. This argument wasn't based so much in fact, obviously, but from old hurt and vengeance. But the newborn children paid, charmed at birth to see if they possessed magic, a spell of the powerful Tangen's own making.

So the Unstable House was built, a sprawling prison where the 'Unstable' were kept until they were hired as near slaves, or died. Most children found their way into one occupation or another, but there was always the doubly-cursed kid who just didn't seem to fit in anywhere. And for some reason, the parents allowed this to happen, and the Unstable accepted their lot in life, and the templars didn't bother anyone, because they couldn't reach the island.

But in the last few decades, the Unstable began to question their apathy. A rebellion formed. Escapees from the Unstable House, or those whose masters secretly supported or let free, began to wreak havoc. They freed imprisoned Unstable children from the House or from a death sentence for some petty or imagined crime; they torched the cruelest mages' large homes; they taught each other to fight. Of course, the society of magi who ruled Tangen did their best to quell this uprising by exploding their hideouts and executing suspected members faster than they blinked, but this only made the rebel's numbers grow. And the rebels were careful, too, and their leader was even more careful, whoever they might be. So by the time the Hero of Fereldan had slain the archdemon—which barely affected Tangen's inhabitants at all—the uprising had destroyed nearly half of the city's homes, either by angry mages attempting to put a stop to it, or by the uprising attempting to put a stop to it _all_.

But while this sudden revolution didn't affect everybody at first, it would end up deciding the fates of every breathing resident of Tangen, whether below the island, above it, or on the island itself. One of the first to be changed by the rebellion and the fate that await it was an Unstable human named Leona. And she was currently sitting in one of the mage Society's prison cells, waiting to die.

* * *

Back in the arling of Amaranthine and in the master suite of Warden's Keep, Talysse Surana had paused in the packing of her trunk and was looking lovingly at a letter on her desk. She folded it up quickly as her seneschal entered with a quiet knock—the letter was of a personal nature, after all—and sighed as she looked him over.

"Don't tell me we're having a peasant revolt," she complained, running her hands through her hair. "I have neither the time nor inclination to _deal_ with a peasant revolt!"

"It's not a peasant revolt, Commander," Varel assured her, though he looked a bit uncomfortable. Once the good news was shared, Talysse resumed packing her robes and summer clothes.

"Excellent. Then I cease to understand why you must bother me, Varel. If it's not something like that, I assume you can deal with it on your own. Now, _please_ leave me be; I only just realized that I'm leaving tomorrow, and I still haven't—"

"It is Grey Warden business, Commander," Varel interrupted.

"Andraste's _blood_. I can never have a moment's peace, can I? Is it a messenger, a letter, the latest archdemon popping by to say hello?

"He calls himself The Crawling." Talysse froze.

"You're sure?" Varel nodded assent. "Andraste's _blood_," she swore again, storming out of her study still in her dressing gown.

Talysse had never met a man by the name of The Crawling before, but then again she doubted that any fellow so important as to require her presence immediately would sink to the level of renaming themselves something that degrading. And because the only _things_ she'd ever met that had names more like creepy titles were darkspawn, she assumed this was another of the Architect's lackeys requesting her assistance. While Talysse held nothing against the Architect and his desires, she wasn't keen on drinking brandy with such a horrific face looking at her and rasping its demands. But it seemed she'd have to do that anyway. How grand.

She stopped her march in the courtroom, and sure enough, a darkspawn she'd never seen was standing awkwardly, waiting for her. He (it?)didn't look any different from any other "freed" darkspawn she'd seen before, and she assumed that the Architect had a message for her. She really, really hoped it wasn't news of some new deranged, Mother-like creature that had just arisen, or something equally gruesome that would delay her trip to Antiva.

"Yes? What do you need, The Crawling?" she asked him impatiently. Varel crept up behind her and silently watched the exchange. "I take it the Architect sent you?"

"The Architect told me where to find you, mortal, yes," the creature croaked. "But it is my own message that I am being carrying."

Talysse blinked, struggling to decipher his words. "You mean to say that _you_ have something to tell me?"

"The Architect is thinking that The Crawling's message would be beneficial to the Warden."

"And what information would that be?" Talysse asked, sitting down on the throne with a sigh. She had a feeling this wouldn't be a short tale.

"I am hailing from the island of Tangen." The elf snapped to attention at the name. Having spent what seemed like most of her life dealing with apostates, maleficarum and spells, she knew the island's story as well as anyone could. "The Crawling was born and lived beneath. Many of my kind spend their time carving out tunnels deep beneath the water. The tunnels will one day meet the dwarva tunnels, and many darkspawn will go forth. There are many of us. It will be a disaster, for both your kind and my kind will die as we charge. "

Talysse stared at the darkspawn and struggled to ask him over and over, _wait, Tangen is real_? "How did the Architect find you" seemed like an important question, so she asked it.

"The Crawling was digging too close to the water. My tunnel broke, and the water swept me away. I was found by the Architect." She doubted she'd get any answers besides that. Considering the simplicity of each answer the hurlock gave, she figured she'd been pushing her luck.

"The Architect wants me to stop this digging, I take it?" The Crawling nodded. Talysse leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Both she and the Architect knew that more darkspawn pouring into the mainland was bad on its own, and the added numbers would ensure that the latest archdemon would be found much sooner. She also knew that the Architect held her in high regard, which would explain why he figured she'd be able to travel to an island of myth and prevent maybe an entire horde from breaking free. Now that she thought about it, if mages had managed to escape to Tangen, she'd probably have _them_ to deal with, as well.

"I take it you know how to get to Tangen?"

"The Architect has been giving me coordinates."

The mage sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past hour and turned to Varel, wanting to cry. "I was going to visit my husband."

"I know, Commander," he replied, sympathy coloring his eyes.

"I haven't seen him in _months_."

"I know, Commander."

"Well, that seems to be that, then," she told The Crawling, leaping off her throne as she did so. "I need to write a letter to Zevran, then. Oh, and while I'm at it," she delivered this last comment to Varel, already heading back to the living quarters, "give Knight-Commander Greagoir a message that I'll be visiting, please. If I'm going to be dealing with the most dangerous mages in history and their descendants, I think a templar or two would be nice."

She departed, wringing her hands as she went. Varel uncertainly asked his darkspawn guest if he needed anything, and after sending a request to the kitchens for meat, he too left.

* * *

The cell walls were smooth and carved with runes of all manners of binding, and Leona found herself finding patterns in the shapes; amusing herself until the executioner came. Her already plain dress was smudged with all kinds of filth, her short red hair lank and greasy, and she thought miserably to herself that it was a shame that she would have to die looking like this. Her jailors had left her alone for two days or so, and the uncertainty of when her death would arrive wasn't helping her calm down enough to do something about it.

Leona didn't even really know _why_ she was here. The Society said that she was a member of the rebellion, though there was no proof. Where the Unstable were concerned, proof wasn't very important, anyway. When a member of the Society had shown up at the House demanding to take the young woman into custody, she was handed over without question. It was a ridiculous conception, though—Leona had never made an attempt to flee the Unstable House, extremely rarely caused trouble, and always did what the House mages told her to do. But when she tried to make this point to the Society as she was carted away, "resist of arrest" was added to her list of supposed crimes. Resisting arrest might earn her some nasty, temporary hex; being part of the rebellion was instant death. She wondered if she would get punished for the lesser crime _before_ dying. It seemed a little silly.

Then again, this whole affair was 'silly'. But no one had asked for her opinion, even if they'd secretly wanted it.

She heard a commotion coming from upstairs and tried to blink away the sudden swell of tears attacking her. Though the wait had been driving her crazy, now all she could think of was how she wished they would let her be for a while longer. Now was a _great_ time to realize that yes, she really was going to die.

The noise continued, spells sizzling and metal clashing. It seemed that they were going to execute her in a fairly Mainland fashion, with an enchanted sword. What a way to die.

Leona heard the footsteps before she saw to whom they belonged to. She shrunk away into the dirty corner, as if that would protect her. Her executioner was a dark-haired elven man, his face ageless in that way elves' skin looks. Plain garments adorned his lithe body, faintly splattered with blood. She shuddered, realizing that he'd probably killed more than a few Unstable today. Barely looking at her, he withdrew a long, shiny sword and began hacking away at the runes sealing the cell door. Blue sparks shot off them, the elf's face drawn in concentration. Whatever odd spell he'd been working seemed to have succeeded because the door fell open and he was hastily beckoning her forth.

"We've got to get you out of here," he told her. His voice was pleasant for an executioner. "I don't know how long we can hold them off." His words clicked, stopping her pathetic plea for life before it had crawled out of her throat.

"You're not from the…" _Uprising._ "Oh, no," she gasped, shaking her head and trying to get farther away. "I can't be seen with you! Oh, no! Oh, _no_!" She was close to hyperventilating, staring at him and oh-no-ing like they were her final words. The elf, however, didn't seem like he wanted to wait for her to pull herself together enough to scream. In a business-like fashion, he stepped into the cell, pulled her up by her shoulders, and slapped her smartly on the face.

"_What did you do that for_?"

"Pull yourself together, woman!" He barked, sheathing his sword and getting ready to run. "We need to _run_!" Leona shook her hair out, feeling her cheek burn. She quickly considered her options, which weren't highly numbered. She finally decided on the intelligent, life-prolonging one, and followed the elf up the prison stairs and into the blood-spattered hall above.

What seemed like a million men and women of varying ages were doing their best to fend off what seemed like a billion furious mages. Quite a few members of the resistance lay dead already, but a more reassuring bit of décor was the even larger amount of robed and staff-wielding corpses.

"Go, go, go!" Leona's savior shouted as he dodged spells and helped up his fallen comrades. Leona tried her best to keep up. The word spread and the rebellion dispersed, save for a few bulky fellows bringing up the rear with their swords, seeming to slice spells out of the air. Outside the prison district and on the shores, the elf pushed aside a large rock on the beach and pulled her inside the pit it revealed. As she landed, Leona heard the rest of the mob running behind her, and she followed its obvious leader as quickly as she could. He'd lit up a torch by now, and she chased its orange glow. Dozens of feet pounded behind her, doing the same.

Leona didn't know how long they'd been running; adrenaline and fear kept her moving, the thought of _escape_ wiping any other ideas about time or distance from her mind. The only notable event was when they ran to an adjoining tunnel to bypass a blocked-up section, and even that distracted her for only a second or two. But the journey came to an end, as all journeys eventually do, and her rescuer paused to push aside a rock in the ceiling and climbed out, putting a hand out to help her as well as the rest of the rebels up.

When no one else's hands reached for assistance, the elf moved the rock back into place and turned around to survey the group, most of whom were sitting down on the grass or leaning against the trees in the forest they'd fled to, catching their breath.

"We made it out before the tide came in and flooded the tunnels. Good timing, mates." His compliment was met with a chorus of tired cheers, and he smiled. It lit up his whole face, and Leona was suddenly struck with a sense of awe. Leadership just rolled off this elf in rivulets: the charisma, pragmatism and intelligence needed were almost physically there in the way he carried himself. But the smile quickly fell, and he turned to a human woman nearby with a nasty scar crossing her otherwise lovely face, asking her, "How many did we lose?"

"Around twenty, I think. It's not the worst that has ever happened, and they will be mourned, but we can't let such thoughts weaken us," she replied immediately. "We should return to the matter at hand." At that statement, it suddenly seemed to Leona that everyone's eyes were on her. They were, too, including the leader.

"Right. Well, I think introductions are in order first, before you come frolicking about the open fields with us. What's your name?"

"Leona," said Leona.

"Nice to meet you, Leona." And the way he said it, it sounded like he meant it. His voice was sincere and he was looking her straight in the face, like he wanted to memorize it. "My name is Aza'an, and I'm the current leader of the rebellion."

* * *

Talysse had spent the rest of the evening penning Zevran and repacking her trunk. She wasn't entirely sure if Tangen would have any lyrium stocks, so she'd made sure to collect all the dust and potions she could gather, as well as salves, scrolls and other magical gear that she didn't want to regret not taking. She left the Keep in her seneschal's capable hands, so the state of her arling while she was away wouldn't prey on her mind.

After dealing with these and other equally depressing tasks, Talysse spared no time in departing for the Circle directly after the message boy had. It would take three days to make the journey, but instead of wasting time and energy waking up any other Wardens and requesting their assistance, she went alone. Her friends were furious with concern once they'd found out, but by that point Talysse was already too far away for anyone to do anything about.

She was lucky, though; she'd run into no trouble on the way, as the land was still recovering from the second darkspawn swarm. So when Greagoir took his morning coffee with the news that his old charge, the Hero of Fereldan, was coming to visit on urgent business, his mug was barely cooled before Cullen announced that Talysse was already on the ferry over.

She met the Knight-Commander in his office, and Irving had shown up for the party as well. She smiled at the First Enchanter and graced a surprised Greagoir with one, too, before immediately settling down to business.

She explained The Crawling's news as carefully as she could. Obviously, the templars would be fairly doubtful about any story about Tangen, but Greagoir listened to her with good grace. He'd never been overly fond of the rather absent-minded and reckless girl when she'd been an apprentice, but he reminded himself that it was not a mage speaking to him, but rather the Grey Warden Arlessa of Amaranthine who'd saved the country from annihilation.

"I do trust this darkspawn," The Grey Warden Arlessa of Amaranthine who'd saved the country from annihilation told the two older men in front of her seriously, "despite the fact that my duty is to wipe out his kind. So if he tells me that Tangen actually exists and holds that name, it means there's going to be a blighted lot of powerful blood mages to deal with. I admit I'm skilled, but not skilled enough that I can pick them all off, kill all the darkspawn, save a thousand kitties from trees that I _know_ I'm going to be asked to help, without assistance from the templars. I respectfully request your aid, gentlemen."

"Surely the first two problems you could handle, but I do think the third is too much." Irving laughed hoarsely before continuing in a more somber tone. "I will not speak for Greagoir, of course, but I think you may have to save those kittens without templar assistance."

"If this is about putting the men in danger…" Talysse piped up, but Irving's hand raised silenced her.

"Patience, young one. I mean to say that the Circle of Magi have not let Tangen's existence go on unchecked. In all the accounts of the mages who managed to escape the templars' grasp, their phylacteries—if they had any—all broke after a certain point, and when that happened, they seemed to vanish. The templars would search the entire ocean for months, and they would never discover any clue of the apostate's whereabouts."

"What Irving is saying," Greagoir hastily put in at seeing Talysse's irritated _I-know-the-stories_ face, "is that the scholars suspect that a templar—a _full-fledged_ templar, mind you—cannot reach Tangen. Perhaps it is due to enchantments on the island, or some natural force that erases connections to the rest of the world…Such things have been known to occur, after all, but we're not sure."

"Ahem, yes, I was getting to that," Irving snapped. Talysse ignored the quick bickering that ensued.

"I won't take any fresh-faced initiate of yours that's never fought in a battle," she sighed, "and I don't think you'll let me. But I don't know what else—oh, _no_," she moaned suddenly, sitting up straight in her chair. "I can't take _Alistair _with me!"

"Pardon?" Talysse wasn't sure who'd asked, but she answered anyway.

"Alistair. Sorry, _His Royal Majesty_. He'd trained as a templar, but he'd never taken his vows...Dammit!" Both men were staring at her openly by now, but her thoughts were racing so fast that again she didn't notice.

"In the first place, I don't think the Court would let him. In the second, _Anora_ definitely won't—no; she might actually enjoy the opportunity to openly rule the country. Not to mention Alistair would probably be elated to get out of the palace. And he's an excellent warrior, knows what he's up against…yes," she spoke aloud, standing up from her chair with a lost-in-her-thoughts expression, "it's actually not a completely stupid idea. Well, there's only one way to find out, right?" She delivered the last comment to Irving and Greagoir with another smile, already on her way out the door. "Thank you so much for your time, gentlemen!"

Irving met the Knight-Commander's eyes with a slight chuckle. "Well, she certainly hasn't changed much, has she?"

"That's not funny at all, Irving."

* * *

It was another three-day trip to Denerim, and though she ran into some extremely foolish bandits on the way, it was almost as uneventful as the first journey. Before leaving the Circle, Talysse had sent one message to Varel to let her know of her whereabouts, and another to the palace requesting a meeting with the royal couple as quickly as possible. She doubted that Alistair or his bride would let her message pass without thought, so it was with confidence that she strolled into the palace district.

Sure enough, when the elf entered the courtroom, the royal guard informed her that she had been expected, and that Their Royal Majesties were waiting in their study with dinner. She followed his directions and passed gaudy door after gaudy door until she heard an exuberant "_Talysse!_" accompanied by a respectful "Good evening, Warden" coming from an open door to her left.

The owner of the name and title followed the voices, bowing to Alistair and Anora as she entered. Alistair looked, as always, out of place in his fancy threads; Anora looked, as always, the model of queenliness. Both were seated in a comfy, if a little too grand, room wallpapered with bookshelves. They each sat in fancy armchairs around a coffee table laden with fancy food, a large desk with sheets of vellum overflowing it sitting in the background behind them. Alistair waved to her excitedly with his teacup as she rose from her bow, and Anora gently pulled his arm back down.

Talysse smiled at the two as she was offered a seat in front of them. She hadn't seen the two in quite a few weeks, and while the last time they'd met, Alistair and Anora had seemed quite comfortable with each other, this meeting they both seemed a bit happier. Talysse couldn't help but applaud her decision, proud that the best political move hadn't ended horribly for either member of the arranged marriage.

"Maker's breath, woman!" Alistair grinned at her. "It's been ages! Before we get to all the dreary royal business that I know you'll have for us, allow me a moment to say that you look _fantastic_. I mean, you've always looked great, of course, but—"

"It's a pleasure to see you, Warden," Anora cut her husband's attempt at polite greeting smoothly. "How is your husband faring? If you have graced us with your presence, I am to assume that you have already returned from your trip to Antiva?" Talysse had to give the queen credit for not inflecting the word _husband_ with any slight disdain for the man's profession. This was Anora's element, so she really wasn't too surprised, though.

Talysse smiled sadly. "The pleasure is mine, Your Majesties. Forgive me for correcting you, my queen, but my trip to Antiva has been…postponed. The last I spoke with Zevran he was getting on fine despite my absence, however." She could see Alistair about to question this, but she shot him a look and he fell silent. "As for you, Alistair," she continued, knowing how to address each noble despite the winces Alistair caused Anora, "I hope that my 'dreary royal business' might hold some interest for you, in particular. Though I should be well on my way to Antiva by now, some events have recently been called to my attention…"

She launched into her story. Though she was very fond of both the humans present (ignoring their respective bodyguards, whom she didn't know), she felt weary as she explained everything, feeling like she'd dictated the dilemma a thousand times before. She finally told them about the supposed no-real-templar rule and started digging into her dinner in an unladylike fashion while she waited for them to absorb all the information she'd shoved their faces in.

"Oh, right!" She exclaimed after swallowing a bite of heavily stewed duck. She'd given up all pretenses of formality at this point, tired of having to think before speaking. "Alistair, I assume you've figured this out by now, but I was wondering—well, asking, really—if you would come with me." When he continued to stare at her, she uncertainly added, "You know, because you can fight darkspawn and because you're not a complete—"

"I _get_ it, Talysse," he interrupted her, finding his voice. "Just…wait a second. No, wait a _few _seconds. I need to…I need to think!"

"Warden, you are asking a great deal of us," Anora said, allowing a trace of shock to color her tone. "Not only are you insisting that the isle of apostates from myths is indeed real, but that a talking darkspawn urged you to travel there. If that does not sound astonishing enough to you, there is also the fact that you wish to take our nation's king chasing _after_ this myth. There are the matters of cost for the ship, a crew…Maker's breath, Talysse; you want to take away my _husband_."

Well, that last comment was something interesting, Talysse mused; especially since Alistair didn't seem put off by it. "Your Majesty, I _am_ Arlessa of a port city. I think I should be able to conjure up at least a rowboat," Talysse said dryly, balancing the dryness with a sip of wine. "Second: as you are well aware from the events from two months ago, talking darkspawn _do_ exist. Where Tangen is concerned, well, I trust this creature's story. And let's be frank, Anora," she sighed, wiping her mouth with a million thread-count napkin, "you wouldn't mind so much if Alistair let you publicly rule the country for a while. I know you two are fond of each other as well as can be expected, but you can't expect me to believe that you'll really be mourning each other's' absences."

Anora and Alistair gave the other a look. The mage recognized it as one that she and Alistair used to shoot each other—forming thoughts silently and sharing them with their eyes. She was impressed that after only a year or so, the royal couple had already mastered. It was sort of cute.

The look was going on a bit too long, though. "I feel out of the loop," she announced. "If there's something you're not sharing with me, please be so kind as to at least tell me that it's not my place to be interfering in royal affairs."

"It's not your place to be interfering in royal affairs, Talysse," Alistair echoed, completely lacking any authority in his tone. He smiled self-consciously at Talysse's raised eyebrow before turning back to Anora. "My queen, I think it would be best if I accompanied the Hero of Fereldan to her mage-hunting, darkspawn-thrashing journey. I trust the kingdom will be in your good hands while I am away." To Talysse's amused surprise, he caressed the aforementioned good hands quickly, and even more jolting was the fact that Anora didn't pull her hands away.

Talysse fought the urge to coo at them. Instead, she clapped her hands joyfully and began filling Alistair in on packing details. Eventually, they decided that Alistair's guard should not come with on the voyage itself, but that they would accompany him to the port of Amaranthine. Yet another message boy was sent to the Keep (Varel could probably start a little choir by now) informing the seneschal of the plan, along with a request for an able ship. Talysse agreed to stay the night (who would turn down an invitation to sleep in such fancy quarters?), and they would be off to Amaranthine the next day.

* * *

It had been nearly a week since Leona had agreed to join the rebellion, and she was exhausted. After admitting to Aza'an that she sort of, kind of, not really knew how to properly handle a sword, she'd been subjected to rigorous exercises and drills. The conversation unfolded in the following fashion:

Aza'an: I know you lived in the Unstable House your entire life so don't think you should be embarrassed, but are you knowledgeable in any style of fighting?

Leona: I can use a sword…

Aza'an: Warrior style, or rogue style?

Leona: I'm not very fast.

Aza'an: So, warrior style. Longsword, shortsword, greatsword, daggers…?

Leona: What about a sword-sword?

Aza'an: We'll get back to that later. How well can you handle it?

Leona: I can hold it and swish it.

Aza'an: Show me.

He'd been so rapid and professional in the way he'd asked all the questions that it left Leona's mind spinning. He had handed her a sword with a blade of about three feet in length and watched her clumsily grasp the hilt and experimentally wave it about a few times. He'd caught her sword arm after only a few seconds of this and extricated the weapon from her grip, saying that he'd want her to learn the basics before she got into any bad habits and poked someone's eyes out. He'd been smiling when he'd said it, so she hadn't felt too bad about herself, though she couldn't help mumbling an apology.

Aza'an had waved her apologies off and had turned to call Lara (the girl with the scar, Leona now know) over, but Leona had piped up, asking "When I get better, will you teach me to dispel curses the way you do?"

The elf had seemed startled, his beckon catching in his throat, before he laughed a bit. "I think we'll have to wait a bit for that! But if you're really interested, I want you to focus everything you have into learning the basics of swordplay. I don't mean the enthusiasm and ability I know you'll display—though that's also something I'm looking forward to seeing—but the _discipline_. Block out all other thoughts in your mind when you practice. If I notice that you've developed that type of mental resistance I'm looking for, I'll start teaching you right away. Deal?"

She'd shaken his hand, and when his naturally mischievous features were focused on hers so earnestly, she knew she'd do everything she could to make him teach her. Aza'an was just the type of person you just didn't want to let down and have his face looking at you in disappointment. It made Leona feel odd—she'd never met an elf with that kind of natural leadership before. Racism still existed on Tangen, of course, and most elves in the Unstable House walked around slouched over, like they were disappointed in their very existence.

Leona still craved Aza'an's respect, but the effort of doing so was nearly killing her (so she thought). Lara was a great teacher—patient, intelligent, and unexpectedly hilarious—and often watched her student with amusement as Leona practiced slice after slice after slice for hours, stopping only for water breaks. Sometimes Aza'an would stop by and check on Leona's and the other new members' progress and Leona prided herself on the fact that Aza'an would sometimes compliment her on her dedication. But he'd never once given any sign that she was ready to begin training with him, so Leona had always put more and more effort into her lessons.

"I don't know what I expected after only six days," Leona wheezed to herself, leaning against a tree as she finished up her self-inflicted extra practice sessions.

"I certainly hope you didn't expect perfection," an amused voice said behind her. Aza'an had managed to materialize a few trees away, and his footsteps were swallowed up in the shadows.

"Andraste's flaming sword!" Leona's hand fled to her already racing heart. "How didn't I _notice_ you were there?"

"I'm a rogue," he shrugged modestly as he sat by her. "But that aside, it's just a survival thing, especially if I'm the one who plans raids."

Leona thought about that for a bit. She wouldn't have expected the rebels' leader to be one of those kinds of people who fought in the shadows without thought, but she supposed it made a lot of sense. "That reminds me," she told him. "Why did you just suddenly decide to get the group up and running to rescue me when you did?"

"Oh, you mean last week?" Aza'an asked her, waiting for her to nod before continuing. "We were camping in a different location from here when one of our informants told us of an Unstable girl about to be wrongfully executed. Usually, we don't interfere because we've either heard that the prisoners deserve it or, more often, we just don't get the news. We always try to rescue innocent Unstable when we can."

"You have informants?"

"Of course," he laughed softly. "We don't get by on luck! We have mages and relatively free Unstable who risk a blighted lot to tell us what they know."

"Like who?"

"I can't be telling all our secrets to a new rebel," he laughed again as he stood up. Before she had time to properly feel hurt, he continued speaking. "I really just came by to see how you were doing with your technique. Lara told me you've been hard at work every day, practicing extra every chance you could get; I wanted to see how you were coming along."

Before melting into the trees, he added, "And I must say, Leona, I'm really impressed with everything you've been doing. Especially your discipline."

Leona watched the patch of darkness where he'd departed for a long time, pride and adrenaline nearly beating her heart to death. If it was possible for her to be even more inspired…

After a brief rest, she went back to work. She would be victorious.


	2. Resistance

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. I was stupid and rushed on the last chapter, which means I had to add a bunch of stuff that should've already been published. Here's a long chapter for ya. Warning for slight grossness.**

If you didn't count the small fleet of guards bearing King's Guard colors always silently marching behind and around them, it was fun to make the trip back to Amaranthine with Alistair. His armor and weapons had obviously been well taken care of, and Talysse was pleased to see that her old traveling companion hadn't given up his daily fighting exercises. Because of the events that had transpired during Talysse's brief reign of her arling, Pilgrim's Pass was wondrously clear and event-free. She tried to start up personal conversations with her friend as they went along, but he would always cast frantic looks at his bodyguards, signaling her to end the topic.

To others, this might be unbearable, but Talysse was sympathetic to Alistair's uncertainty in matters of kingliness, so she would instead chatter about Zevran, or how the Keep was getting along, or how the Wardens that had survived the annoying Mother incident were doing, and Alistair was very happy to latch onto these subjects. At night, Alistair insisted upon doing the cooking again, an offer Talysse took with a pained smile as she choked down the heavy stew. She knew _Alistair_ knew, to a degree, just how sad his cooking was, but it was fun in a macabrely sentimental way, so she let him.

Not to mention, she was unsure of how much better the soldiers with them would cook; and Maker knew Talysse had never cooked meals in her life and wasn't about to start.

The three days passed easily, and back in Amaranthine it took only a few hours to get a package deal of _Flames of Amaranthine_ with its crew together. Talysse cringed a little at the name, as it served as a reminder of how very near she was to torching her city with all its inhabitants. The harbormaster was offering the ship to her as a compliment, of course, trying to explain how the name was a metaphor for something or other, though Talysse sure didn't see it. But she wasn't about to ask for something else, so she paid the man a nice amount, and somehow the rest of the day went by with the King's Guard finally going home, and the original Last Wardens of Fereldan and their trunks were packed on board and soon to be on their way.

They pulled away from the port with the citizens' cheers ringing in their ears, and with that they were searching for an imaginary island. Alistair approached Talysse in the evening while she was leaning on the railing, looking out over the ocean. He'd taken a bit to find his sea legs and so had toddled about the deck doing so, and she was still in the same position he'd left her.

"Let's play a game," she said before he'd had a chance to open his mouth. "It's called, 'What in the World is Going On in Tangen?'. The rules are obvious. You go first."

"Is this a serious game or a fun game?" Alistair poked her. "Because if it's a serious game, you know I'm just going to make stupid jokes."

"Well, if it'll prevent you from making stupid jokes, I suppose we'll have to choose the 'fun' option, won't we?"

"Nope," he replied cheerfully, stretching his arms as if in preparation to let the corniness fly. "I'm afraid that either way, we'll have stupid jokes."

"Alas," she grinned.

"Well, let's see," he began. "In best-case scenario, when we arrive, it turns out that the island was actually throwing a surprise party for us—in celebration for being amazing, of course. The Mud-Streaked or whatever his name was, he was actually Anora dressed up to lure us to Party Island."

"You know, that's actually not a bad guess," Talysse continued grinning at him. "Darkspawn do seem to resemble Anora on their best days."

"Hey!" Alistair yelped, pushing Talysse over just as the ship hit a swell, causing her to lose her footing and land on deck. "She _is_ my wife, you know!"

The mage dusted herself off as she rose, giving Alistair an interested look. "I didn't know things were going so well between you two that you'd defend her honor." Alistair's ears turned pink, mumbling something about a married man's responsibilities.

"Well, if _that's_ your attitude, I suppose I'll have to have a little talk with Zevran when I see him," she said, only half-joking. "I don't suppose he's fulfilling a married man's duties, then. Once, a merchant made some rude comment about my staff, and instead of telling the man, off, Zevran grinned and—"

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" Alistair shouted loud enough to earn a few confused looks from nearby crew, putting his hands over his ears. "I _really_ don't want to know what kinds of things Zevran would say about a woman and her—I don't want to know!"

Talysse only smiled pleasantly. "It was _really _quite interesting, though—"

"No, no, no! Let's continue talking about depressing things like hundreds of apostates and darkspawn and death!"

At that, Talysse sobered. "You really think that's what we'll find?" she asked him. "Colonies of unbelievably powerful and crazy mages, I mean."

Alistair matched her serious look. "I wouldn't have come along if I didn't, Talysse. And you wouldn't have asked me unless you were sure, too."

"You're right," she said, turning away from him. "I just don't know how bad it will be."

* * *

"That was really, really bad," Lara snapped, handing Leona's sword back to her. "Do it again."

"I'm trying my best!" Leona spat back, snatching her weapon as she did so.

"Then you're not very good, are you?"

Patience was worn thin by this point. Lara had offered to spar with Leona instead of running more drills, and Leona had leapt at the chance. It wasn't extremely likely that they would run into any arcane warriors as the art was taught to no one but Keepers—not even their descendants—and fresh Dalish weren't common, but it was better to be prepared. Plus, if any Unstable had been stationed as body guards or simply tried to fight back, it would be lifesaving to know how to fight against another bit of steel. The session had been lasting for hours, and while both women had been chipper in the start, fatigue and disappointment in her lack of perfection had worsened Leona's form. Lara was getting tired as well; especially since she'd promised the other woman that they wouldn't quit until Leona managed a successful disarm.

Leona was about to bite out a venom-laced comment before she remembered why she was working so hard in the first place. She doubted that letting your enemy rile you up was classified as "discipline", so she swallowed her retort and let herself relax.

"I know, Lara," she said in a resigned tone. "And I'm not good enough because I'm not _working_ hard enough. Let's do it again."

She thought she saw Lara her a grateful smile, but a different flash—one from a practice sword—distracted her and she had to use all her mental and physical power to keep her opponent from landing a hit. The routine was going the way it seemed to be going for the past thousand runs, but suddenly, Leona's brain turned on and began bringing up some very important questions while she dueled.

_How are you fighting her?_ Not very well, was the grim answer. _But _how_ are you fighting her?_ I'm matching her style so it's a fair fight. _Will it be a fair fight in real battle?_ Probably not—OH! With that realization—one she'd should've made hours ago, so it really wasn't a surprise as to why Lara was getting irked—Leona feinted instead of parrying Lara's frontal blow like she'd been doing before. The action caused her upper arm to be grazed a little, but as she pulled back and flicked her wrist to knock Lara's now-blocking sword out of the older woman's hand, the look of approval that met Leona's brown eyes was worth it.

"I'd been waiting _forever_ for you to figure that out!" Lara laughed, picking up her vanquished weapon and slapping it against her shield in applause. "Andraste's mercy, Leona, what made it click?"

"I have no idea," Leona began, throwing herself face-first into the grass while she tried to think. "I guess it was when we were yelling at each other. You know, I was about to say something horrible to you when I remembered the whole important 'discipline' bit. I guess that activated memory made everything seem so…_obvious_."

"That's because it is," Lara said absently as she polished the leather armor she'd thrown off. Then, her look became mischievous. "By the way, you'll have to tell me what that horrible thing was sometime. Considering we're talking about you and your lack of creativity, someone will probably try to use it against me sometime, so I'd like to be prepared with something witty to rebuke them with."

Leona snorted. "Who in the blighted Pit would think it wise to insult _you_?"

"Eh, Aza'an wouldn't think it _wise_, but he'd certainly think it fun."

Leona didn't respond to this. She didn't know Aza'an extremely well, and though what she'd seen of him so far she'd liked, she certainly couldn't imagine him being stupid simply for the sake of amusement. She'd only seen the elf make a big speech once before, one that was simply impulse, and it had taken place a week ago after a fairly unsuccessful manor-burning. Leona hadn't gone, of course, but she'd seen the rebel group (one much smaller than the one that had valiantly charged hours before their return) plod into their current camp with faces that contained misery and every type of disappointment, and their horror combined with Aza'an's solemn address made her feel like she herself had failed. She couldn't remember exactly what it was that the man had said, because all she remembered was his eyes and somber voice, both piercing into her soul as he said words like _sacrifice_ and _death_ and _cruelty_ and _honor_ and _respect_…Leona couldn't imagine a _world_ where anything Aza'an said wasn't calculated and just.

Then again, Lara knew him best. Leona's mind began to wander along that train of thought until she couldn't contain herself anymore and ended up asking, disturbing the restful silence.

"Lara, you don't need to answer if it's too personal, but…how did you get to be Aza'an's second?"

Lara laughed a bit and didn't open her eyes. "Feeling a bit ambitious, are we?"

Leona was appalled, and said so. Lara only snickered the concern away and sat up straight, fixing Leona with her eyes. "Well, you know, of course, that Aza'an wasn't the _original_ leader of the rebellion, right? That it had started before he was even born?" Lara waited for her friend to nod assent before continuing. "So we joined up about the same time, and because we were new recruits, we didn't really see each other very often. We didn't go on raids or anything, and the most we saw each other was when we were dueling one another or across the fire at dinner.

"I'd also like to let you know that, well…The previous leader wasn't _good_, Leona. You wonder why the rebels seemed to be losing a few years ago? He was why. He was a nice guy, but too concerned with our safety to make many plans of action, and when he did, they weren't thought out. There was never a plan B because he didn't think to have a second-in-command. It's not that he was _stupid_; it was just that he was a reckless, if ambitious, guy who didn't think too far ahead.

"So by the time I was finally able to go on a raid, the plan got messed up, and I ended up getting captured. The anti-rebellion Unstable who caught me had tied me up in the forest and were hoping to hand me into the Society for political privileges. They weren't going to get any, of course, but I guess all they had was hope. Anyway, I was the only one who'd been unable to escape, so our leader—his name was Julius—Julius didn't think it was worth it risking men to go after me, even though he knew where I was and knew that two Unstable men wouldn't be much of a problem. But Aza'an knew, so he organized a small fleet of guys as well as a plan, and they marched in and brought me back.

"I'd never forgotten it, of course, so when there was a _similar_ situation a few months later, only the roles were reversed—" Lara had finally noticed Lara was gaping at her. "Don't look at me like that! I _told_ you he wasn't a good leader!"

"I'm just amazed that Aza'an got _captured_."

Lara snorted. "He's not the _Maker_, Leona. He's not _Andraste_, even though he'd look a lot better in a dress." Leona pictured that and disagreed. "Besides, like I said, this was practically the same situation: Aza'an was the only one captured, and he was a victim of poor planning. So basically the same thing happened: I made a plan of entry, brought a few guys and girls with, and bam, we had a rescued Aza'an. So when old Julius got himself killed while stealing supplies from the Society's personal stock, Aza'an was voted as the leader, and he remembered me and made me his second."

"And considering her plans have been keeping me alive for the past six years, I'd say it was a damned good decision," a shadow said as it leapt from the trees.

"Andraste's knickers, Aza'an," Lara complained while Leona instantly drew her sword. "Stop sneaking up on people! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were showing off."

Aza'an shrugged in an unconvincing display of apology. "I'm just practicing. Climbing through trees keeps me in shape."

"Were you listening the whole time?" Leona accused, gesturing her sword in his general direction.

"I'll have you know, I look damn _fantastic_ in a dress," he answered solemnly, before he grinned. " I couldn't help myself. By the Maker, Lara, if your mother had stayed in Orlais, you could've grown up to be a bard." Lara's mother was strong enough to escape to Tangen when she was incredibly heavy with child. Once she'd delivered Lara, and the Society found out about Lara's lack of magical ability, she'd thrown a fit and refused to let her child be sent away from her. A struggle broke out between the new mother and the mages present, and the woman in her weakened state was killed, but not before sending a bolt wild and catching her new child on the face with it. The healers at the Unstable House cast the most rudimentary spells of mending on it, enough to cover the wound with a thin layer of skin, but not enough to prevent the marring scar.

"And if my mother had stayed in Orlais, she would've been killed, and you'd never have me around to lust after."

"Whoa." _That_ got Leona's attention. "I didn't know—are you two…?" She tilted her head back and forth, somehow conveying the thought of "romantically involved" with the move.

Aza'an and Lara both laughed. "No offense to Aza'an," Lara grinned, "but I'm not into elves. When I say 'my eyes are up here', I don't like to be greeted with the response of 'but I'm too short to see your eyes!'"

The short elf slapped her shoulder as Lara laughed even more. "You're just saying that to make people believe you have something to show _off_." While he dodged a blow from his second, Aza'an turned to Leona.

"I didn't come just to make fun of Lara," Aza'an informed her, as if that wasn't obvious. "I wanted to ask you if you wanted to start training with me."

Leone nearly choked on her inhalation. "Really? I mean, yes! Yeah, of course! Thank you!" She could feel her cheeks tinge pink in pleasure, and she fumbled for her sword awkwardly.

Aza'an nodded approval. "Excellent. Tomorrow we'll be moving camp to the cave by the beach," he directed this comment to both the women, "so it'll be a good place to learn the basics in privacy. And when Xavier comes, and if Leona has been doing well, the _real_ work will begin."

Leona knew enough not to ask who Xavier was. If either leader thought it important to tell her, they would; if not, she assumed she'd either find out later, or she wasn't meant to know.

Lara nodded, and Leona belatedly did the same. Aza'an turned and ran through the forest, shouting as he went, "Pack up! Get your things together for tomorrow!"

* * *

"Oh, _Maker_," Alistair moaned before a torrent of vomit shot out of his mouth. Fortunately, he managed to lean over the rail fast enough, but splattering the side of the ship with his dinner. Talysse ignored her better judgment and gingerly patted her friend on the back. She doubted he could feel it through his nausea and the dragonbone splintmail, but she felt good about her morals for even making the attempt.

"There, there," she cooed the not-soothing words at him. Who ever thought they would be comforting, anyway? Suspecting that Alistair heard the slight derision in her voice, she switched tactics, going from semi-sympathetic to bluntly mocking. "Don't tell me you've never been on a ship before."

"Okay, I won't, considering I've had enough of your unhelpful attitude." Alistair seemed to have recovered quickly, but his wits didn't catch up in time. Without thinking, he wiped his gross mouth on his armor, which not only failed to clean his face properly, but also meant that partially digested food was wedged in the cracks separating each splint. Alistair's face fell as he realized this fact, saving Talysse from the task of informing him of this in the most unsympathetic way that she could.

"That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen," she announced instead, "and that includes seeing four broodmothers writhing in agony as tons of lyrium burned their tainted flesh."

The king stared at her impassive features; he knew she didn't mean it, but _still_… "You are a horrible person," he informed her, weakly staggering off to clean The Royal Visage and Gear off.

"I like to think I'm a very good person, tolerating your presence while you stink like an alienage alley."

"I'm getting to it!"

She met him later in the evening on the bow of the ship. They'd only be sailing for three days, but they'd already progressed into warmer weather. Talysse had happily discarded the stole around her robes as soon as she was able; Alistair, for his part, was willing to spend more time in the open sea air. Judging by today, however, this didn't seem to be his wisest idea, so she was a more than a little surprised that he was strolling around so soon after the unpleasant events from earlier.

Talysse told him so, relaying the thought directly from her brain to him. Alistair shrugged self-consciously. "There's no point trying to hide below deck for the entire voyage," he explained. "I might as well deal with any…difficulties, and try to get over them."

Talysse raised her eyebrows, mildly impressed. "That's excellent to hear. It's comforting to know that while our future monarchs of Fereldan may quake and upchuck at the mere mention of an aquatic vessel, at least they'll be brave enough to dare _speak_ to the naval captain."

Alistair sighed at her and leaned against the railing, if a little cautiously. "Do you have to joke about things like that? Really, do you?"

The woman blinked. She hadn't realized that had struck a nerve. "Well, I don't _have_ to," she replied feebly. "I didn't think you'd get so…_offended_."

"I'm not offended, I just…" Alistair made a noise and turned away again. Subtly was not his strong suit.

"Alistair…" Talysse looked the man up and down, taking in his slightly depressed posture. "Is something wrong? If I'm being too callous, I apologize. I wasn't thinking."

"No, no." He waved her awkward apologies off. "That's not it." He sighed again like it was a punctuation mark. Talysse waited a bit. When after five minutes he still hadn't responded, she'd started to think he never would, and that maybe she should just leave him alone. Just as her right foot had pivoted a few degrees and her hand had started to rise in farewell, Alistair said to the sea, "Anora is with child."

He'd said the words so clearly and so void of emotion that Talysse knew she hadn't misheard. Her voice caught in her throat as she asked, "And you don't think it's yours?"

"What?" Alistair couldn't stop himself from looking at her with shock, as if he couldn't believe that such a thing as adultery existed. "No, I…I _know_ it's mine. Trust me, I do." He seemed ready to continue his story and bypass that point, but Talysse was too confused and interested to let that bit drop.

"Wait, what? How are you sure?" A dozen scenarios of Anora with a suitor, and then trying to pass the child off as Alistair's ran through her head. Though she raised an eyebrow at Alistair's naivety, she had to admit to herself that a cheating Anora (well, at least romantically) was difficult to envision.

The look on Alistair's face softened, much to his fellow Warden's bemusement. "Maker's breath, Talysse, you didn't see her when she told me. She'd called me to her cabinet for a discussion, and I'd barely made it through the antechamber when she sent her lady-in-waiting away and just…exploded in joy." The terms used by nobility—'cabinet', 'antechamber', 'lady-in-waiting—rolled off Alistair's tongue more smoothly than Talysse would have expected. "I mean, she tried to remain calm, but eventually…It was like that mask she wears for the public just shattered. She never had any children with—with my brother, and what with her father dying…" Alistair's face was almost dreamy, and a ripple of shock crashed through Talysse's spine.

"I can't believe it," she told him, the tone of her voice matching her words. "You've fallen in love with Anora."

"She loves me too," Alistair defended, completely missing her point, and those words disarmed Talysse once again. She shook her head a few times.

"You know Alistair, when I decided to marry the two of you, I'll admit I was _not_ thinking of your best personal interests. I was thinking of brilliant political moves, and I'd hoped that, at _best_, you two would eventually maintain a loving relationship…But, Andraste's blood, you crazy shem," she grinned at him, "I didn't expect it to be so _soon_."

"Anora is a lovely woman," Alistair muttered, turning pink as he understood her surprise.

"Ignoring the fact that she _did_ nearly send us to Fort Drakon while we were rescuing her, _and_ she's a ruthless politician, well, yes she is. I've grown quite fond of her. But I'm not as fond as to _sleep_ with her often enough to get my tainted seed to _impregnate_ her."

Maker's breath, if Alistair turned any darker, she'd mistake him for darkspawn blood. "See, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you," he said loudly. "I _knew_ you'd say something awkward, like…like…"

"'Tainted seed'?" The blushing king nodded mutely. "It could be worse," Talysse replied with cheer. "Zevran could be with me. Wouldn't that be marvelous?" Alistair's red complexion acquired a distinctly green tinge to it. Ignoring her friend's discomfort, Talysse continued, crowing, "You lucky dog! How long has it been?"

"I don't know exactly," he mumbled, "but Anora informed me the night before you came."

Talysse blinked in surprise at that. As evening progressed into night, the air was fast becoming cool, but the topic of discussion was too interesting that she didn't want to run back for her stole and risk Alistair fleeing. "Wow. Really? She must have a lot of faith in you," she said kindly, "to let you come traipsing off on adventures with me while she's carrying your baby."

"I think she has more faith in _you,_ truth be told," Alistair corrected her, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Or maybe that he'd be seasick again, so his mouth would be occupied with other tasks.

Talysse shuddered at that thought. Moving on. "No, because if she had no faith in you, she'd send me along to kill darkspawn on my lonesome. Hey, maybe she'd hope for me to die. I might become a dangerous rival, after all." At Alistair's black glare, she backpedaled. "Sorry! Old habits die hard! Zevran isn't too fond of her, and we talk…Uh…" Bad decision, Talysse, bad decision! "Let's go to bed," she made up lamely, turning around. "It's getting cold, and I want to be well-rested tomorrow so I can study as much as I can about this mysterious island."

Alistair looked slightly appeased at the mention of escape from talking, so he followed.

* * *

Aza'an's words rang true: the cave they'd moved to was large enough to accommodate their band, plus extra room to practice, so they found themselves a secluded corner in order to get started on their training.

To Leona's surprise, the first thing Aza'an told her to do was to sit down. She obeyed, too surprised to do anything else. She'd half expected him to turn on her with daggers the second they arrived, to test her reflexes or something.

"First," he said clearly, sitting down in front of her, "how much do you know about the Mainland mages?"

Leona tried not to audibly sigh in self-disappointment. Serious conversations with Aza'an seemed to go this way. He'd ask her a question regarding intellect, and she'd offer some lame response. So, she did, mumbling something about the Circle and apostates.

"That's true," he reassured her, "but do you know _why_ the Circle was invented, and why apostates are hunted?" When the elf saw his student fidget awkwardly, he started afresh. "More importantly, do you know _who_ hunted apostates and maleficarum, and who guarded the tame mages in the Circle?"

"At the Unstable house, the teachers didn't like to talk about things like that," Leona said in way of explanation of her ignorance. "I suppose they didn't want to give us any ideas. Our lessons were very…biased."

Aza'an nodded, like he approved. "I understand. I was only curious to see how informed you were; I would've been quite surprised had you known." His words of comfort had the opposite on the young woman. She sagged a little, _wanting_ to surprise him with bursts of genius.

Aza'an noticed her gesture, but acted like he hadn't. "You know at least a little of the Maker and Andraste," he said, waiting for her enthusiastic nod. "Now, I know the Society likes to teach as little of them as they can, and the reason for that is because of what Andraste said when she felled the Tevintar Imperium." He received a blank look, so he explained the empire run by blood mages. "When she saw the selfish and horrible things these men and women done, she said that 'magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him'. This is understandable and sensible, in the same way that swordplay shouldn't be abused for tyrannical rule, and all that.

"But because the land was reeling from the horrors these mages had unleashed, the Chantry decided that all mages must be put under lock-and-key so that they could never be possessed by demons and become abominations, or turn to what was now labeled as 'forbidden magic'. So the Circles were created, and in order to basically be the overlords, the Chantry began training templars."

Aza'an had expected Leona's embarrassed, ignorant look at this, and hastened to assure her that few people knew the term. "These knights were young men—later, a few women—who were sworn to the Chantry and studied how to block their minds against distraction. That's why I wanted you to build up at least a little mental discipline; you've done quite well." Leona beamed, and Aza'an flashed her a smile as well before continuing. "In addition, they learned to _use_ that discipline in order to just…make spells not work. In fact, with one slash of a sword, most templars can just drain a mage's spell-power in one hit. Other templars can completely cleanse areas from all magical effects. The original leader of the resistance was so well-trained in templar studies that he could _smite_ mages to sever them completely from the Fade—not just their magic, but their _lives_." He let that sink in, smirking as he saw Leona's awe-washed expression.

"Now, if we managed to get to the Mainland and ask the Chantry, they would say that mage-hunting is a _holy_ business, as well as a skill that needs an addictive substance called 'lyrium' to be truly effective. But, considering we've taught ourselves these skills pretty well without that, I'd say that's just a lot of greedy church talk."

"Considering the Maker hasn't seemed to look upon this place at all, I'd agree with you," Leona said bitterly, turning away.

"Hey," Aza'an told her gently, sensing angry tears about to fall. "We can't live our lives in fear, or for want of vengeance, Leona. Instead, we have to clear our minds to see our one pure goal, without personal vendettas or emotions clouding our judgment. _That's_ what makes us different from the mages, and able to fight them."

Realizing that Aza'an was right, and that she was letting the mental discipline she'd worked so hard on slip, Leona lifted her head and nodded, hoping that he saw the determined fires in her eyes. He did, of course, because he flashed his canines in a smile again before rising.

"Excellent. Now that we have our history lesson over, I want to get to the combat section. What weapons are you currently using?"

"Just my longsword." Leona's red hair fell around her face like a hood as she unsheathed it for emphasis.

Aza'an delicately raised a dark eyebrow. "That's it?" Two words, and he managed to convey his disapproval. Leona flushed.

"I can't keep track of more than one weapon, or a shield," she said apologetically.

Aza'an shook his head, and she felt panic set in. Would this handicap mean he'd change his mind about training her? "That's really, really unwise, Leona," he sighed. "I wish you'd told me sooner; it means you have to learn how to hold a completely different weapon. Come with me," he ordered, walking to the supplies section of camp.

Half an hour later, after browsing through what seemed like all the greatswords in the world, Leona held a gleaming silver beauty in both hands. Enchantments lightly thrummed through it, making the ebony runes carved in the blade shine with magic. The hilt was a solid thing made for grip, with leather-wrapped steel making it feel sturdy and secure in Leona's hands. Rory, the middle-aged human in charge of weaponry, showed her how to handle it, as well as how to take care of it so it always felt good as new. Aza'an was pleased with her choice as well, informing her that the enchantments woven into it were for bolstering her strength and dexterity, as well as easily dispelling hostile magic. It was a combination of a sword and a shield, and as Leona felt its comforting weight on her back while they walked back to train, she knew it felt _right_.

Aza'an explained that as a templar trained in a warrior style, she would be among the first to charge and the last to retreat. "We need your brute force to give us an opening in the beginning," he explained, while giving an example of a full-scale battle, "and we also need you to cover those of us without magic-deflecting shields and the like when we escape. You're our main defense."

"Like what happened when you rescued me," Leona recalled, and Aza'an grinned and affirmed that. After that lecture, Aza'an drew his two swords, and they sparred.

It was hard work; Aza'an was lightning-quick and experienced, while Leona was slow and uncertain. As training, Aza'an snapped insults at her, and they got nastier as they progressed. Leona knew it was only to secure mental resistance, but they still started to hurt. Eventually, after one barb, Leona couldn't restrain herself and charged towards him with a battle cry.

Aza'an evaded the attack easily and slid behind her before she could think, kicking her in the back of her knees. As she fell, he used his swords to catch her in between them both, like they were the prongs of a skewer and she was a slice of bread he wanted to toast without sticking her. In that fashion, he spun her around, and when she was facing him, used the flat of one of the blades to slam into her forehead. When she awoke from the blackness with a throbbing skull, he was nearly nose-to-nose with her.

"That's why you can't let what your opponent says get to you," he chided, handing her a potion. Leona could nearly smell the healing magic emanating from it but drank it anyway. Instantly, she felt her bruise recede and the throbbing stop. She wondered where he'd gotten it, but didn't ask. The elf continued with his lecture, not letting her up until he was finished. "Your opponent _wants_ your resolve to shatter. He doesn't care about your mother or your looks or your skill; most of the time, he's getting desperate and is trying to play you. Leona, the way you raced forward was completely void of defense: slow and obvious, even though it was powerful. Few enemies are stupid enough not to get out of the way of that. You understand?" He waited for her to nod before helping her up. Leona flushed at their close proximity, especially since it was because of a stupid error on her part. Aza'an understood and moved back, spinning his swords out of their respective sheathes with dexterity that made Leona's heart broil with envy. "Again."

They kept at it for days, pausing only for brief rests, meals and stretches. And after all the different tactics, mental tricks and history Aza'an was drilling into her, Leona felt herself grow smarter, both intellectually and intuitively. So when finally, during one duel, she managed to brush off a particularly hurtful remark about her a-little-too-large nose and instead flip her greatsword to block a double downwards-slash from Aza'an's swords, putting her foot to his chest and pausing in an action over him that would've sent her hilt smashing through his eyes, Leona knew she deserved the admiring smile her yielding opponent gave her.

The day after that small victory, Aza'an asked her to go on a small raid (all trips were called such)—a quick anti-Society propaganda run—with him alone, as a sort of real-life quiz, Leona only had to think for a bit before agreeing.

* * *

Talysse hadn't gotten a plan worked out yet for the way her brain was processing her reading, so it was truly a horrible time for Alistair to enter her quarters. She tried to send him a venom-filled look in order for him to get the hint, but he was closing the door behind him and missed it. She tried again, but at this point Alistair had seated himself in front of her and smiled a really dorky grin, so the effect was lessened enough that her glare seemed merely teasing.

"You, my dear Commander, look positively radiant," Alistair remarked cheerfully. "I can see now that Ser Arainai is a lucky elf, indeed."

Talysse, with heavy bags under her eyes, makeup smeared and hair popping out of its careful coif, did not find this very amusing. "I'll have you know, I stayed up _all_ night reading _all _the stories about this blighted island I could, while _you_ slept comfortably and did nothing at all."

"Hey, that's funny!" Alistair grinned, extending a finger as if he could poke the amusing comment from the air. "I get it: blighted, because it's annoying, and _also_ because there are darkspawn-"

This time, Talysse's glare was perfectly intimidating, and Alistair froze. "Is there any particular purpose as to why you're bothering me, _Your Majesty_?"

Alistair blinked. "Well, I wanted to see how your work was coming along—"

"My work is going along _well_, no thanks to you!" the tired elf snapped. She slammed the dusty tome she'd been reading on the desk and rose from her seat. Going behind the dressing screen, she changed into fresh robes, washed her face and brushed her hair, while Alistair sat speechless.

"It doesn't sound like it," he couldn't help but point out when she sat back down. By this point, scrubbing her face had woken Talysse up, and she reapplied her eye shadow while pouring the two of them a fast-draining bottle of brandy.

"It's Antivan," Talysse said tiredly, referring to the drink. She looked at her discouraged reflection in the glass and sighed. "Well, you're right. It's not going extremely fantastically. And I'm sorry for snapping at you; it's just there's…" she hesitated, unsure if she should break the news so quickly. She decided to go ahead with at least a little bit of it anyway. "There are complications involving _you._"

"Me?" Talysse gave him an irritated no-the-secret-person-in-the-room stare. "What, is there a prophecy or something? That'd be new and exciting."

Talysse barked a laugh at that. "I wish! No, I'm afraid we're down to old and boring dilemmas. See, from what I've been reading, _only _mages have escaped to the island. There have been a few cases where they've brought lovers or parents or siblings or the like along, but most reports state that the non-magic escapees were found dead, or exhausted and confused."

"Most?" Alistair was treated to another annoyed glare. He wondered if being prickly was a mage thing.

"Yes, _most_. Andraste's blood, I'm _getting_ to that."

"Well, it could be like old times, with me never knowing what's going on," Alistair defended. "Isn't it better that this time around, I'm actually ahead of the discussion?"

"No. You're interrupting me." Alistair couldn't help but think, with a mental pout, that it was perfectly all right for a _king_ to interrupt an _elven mage_, but his heart wasn't in it; besides, he couldn't view his old Fearless Leader in any other light.

"As I was _saying_," Talysse continued, "is that it strikes me as interesting that these regular folk were even discovered. This means either that they were too weak to make the journey without magic, or that Tangen just didn't _let_ them come along."

"But what about the others that _did_ make it—" Talysse hit him over the head with a pamphlet. "Ouch!" the uninjured man shouted.

"Stop it," she told him sternly. "Reading through all these books and papers and reports, I assumed that after so many years, I imagine—well, hope—that Tangen has a reasonably stable government by now. Because they're expecting to receive new apostates every now and again, they must have some sort of system to welcome them.

"When I had this thought, I reread all these reports. While some of these mages' acquaintances had been traveling with maleficarum, I realized that _all_ the undiscovered ungifted men and women had been in the company of a successfully fled _blood mage_." Talysse paused and waited, hoping that Alistair had understood without making her explain it.

After a bit, he did. "Oh, no," he gasped, pushing his chair away from the desk and setting down his glass of brandy almost a little too hard. "You are _not_ possessing my brain." He shot a frantic look at the brandy. "Did you drug the brandy? Is there something in the brandy? You're married to _an assassin_, of course there was! Thank the Maker I didn't drink it!" He charged for the door, but Talysse had quickly erected a barrier over it, and he nearly fried himself on sizzling energy. The king turned to her, livid, probably about to start a rant about kidnapping the ruler of Fereldan.

Talysse looked at him in a bored fashion, as if he was an obnoxious boy she really didn't want to babysit. "Calm thyself, good man!" she sighed at him. "You are _completely_ overreacting."

"But that's what you want, isn't it? You want to do _blood magic_ on me!"

"I'm getting there. See why I prefer you when you don't comprehend things easily? Drink some liquor; it'll calm you down." Seeing Alistair's frantic look, she face-palmed herself. "For all that is good and holy, Alistair, I _did not_ poison the brandy. When would I have time to do that?"

Alistair hobbled back to his seat, but didn't drink. He entwined his fingers together and hid them in his lap. _He looks like he's about to wrongfully receive a lecture from the Revered Mother_, Talysse thought with exasperated amusement.

"Okay. Best-case scenario? We don't need to worry about nasty mage fingers in your little brain, and we can just waltz onto the island and eradicate the darkspawn from it. Second-best-case scenario? Any welcome-committee mages honestly don't care about the fact that you're not a mage, and we can just waltz onto the island and eradicate the darkspawn from it."

"That's not going to happen, is it?" Alistair whined.

"Probably not. Now, the scenario I'm _expecting_. We get nasty looks because you're not a mage, and they make me send you back or something, and I'm left alone to waltz onto the island and eradicate the darkspawn from it."

"You're not cheering me up."

"I'm not trying to," Talysse sighed. "I was annoyed when you came in because I hadn't thought of a solution yet."

"Do you have one now?"

"Um…" Talysse drained her brandy and tried to think like Zevran would. She wasn't an expert in the ways of infiltration, but spending so much time with a rogue gave her a vague idea of how to go about this. Obviously, honesty wasn't key here.

If Zevran had to do something like this, she was sure he'd mix romance with it somehow. Come to think of it, when they'd successfully infiltrated the Arl of Denerim's estate, he'd tried to give her his earring nearly as soon as they entered.

Talysse frowned a little as she realized where her mind had wandered to. Pleasant though those memories might be, they were unrelated. But as she thought, a plan sprung in her mind; a plan that she doubted Alistair would like, but hey, when _had_ he liked her not-morally-clean thoughts?

"Okay," she said slowly. "In that scenario, the best solution would be for me to temporarily put you under mind control—"

"Absolutely not," Alistair cut her off.

"You're not even going to hear me out?"

"No," he snapped peevishly. "Blood magic isn't a solution. Got anything else?"

"Yes," the mage quipped back at him, annoyed, "the only thing left to do is to charge onto the island with a battle cry, and let all the strongest apostates ever born swarm us before we even have a _chance_ to tell a genlock 'with love, from the Architect'. Is that better?"

"I—" for a moment, Alistair looked like he might _actually_ agree, but then he sagged in his seat, though the tension was still humming from his muscles. "Fine. Tell me this stupid little _plan_ of yours. I'm not saying I'll agree to it, but at least you won't be able to call me a bad king for not listening to my subjects."

"I can call you a bad king for a number of reasons," Talysse whispered nastily to herself, anger making her say things she didn't mean.

"What was that?"

"An Antivan curse," she said curtly. "This is what I had in mind…"

* * *

The night air was cool, and getting cooler. Aza'an and Leona had outfitted themselves in grey leather, the better for blending in with the fancier part of the city noiselessly. Each carried a large paintbrush and a bucket of paint, as well as their weapons. Aza'an had explained to her that one of their mage allies had enchanted the paint to dry quickly and be nearly impervious to attempts to magic it away. Indeed, as they had passed walls and schools and stores and homes, Leona could see lots of uprising graffiti plastered everywhere from other rebels. The elf had explained to her, when she noticed an unusually clean spot of an otherwise weather-beaten building, the original paint they'd used in the early days wasn't nearly as enchanted, if it all, so they'd soon learned to make their dyes as strong as the message they tried to send.

In addition to her greatsword, Aza'an had told her to equip herself with a few flasks of corrosive liquid and a shortsword in case of emergency. In the moonlight, Leona could faintly see the glimmer of concealed weapons on his person, and briefly wondered how much metal he had on him.

Their leather boots sounded like rolling leaves on the cobblestones, even if they didn't try to be silent, and Leona marveled at how shadowlike their bodies seemed to become. Adrenaline coursed through her, and when Aza'an peered around a corner and suddenly dragged her behind a pile of boxes nearby a spirit masseuse's building, fear made it hard for her to see. Aza'an's finger appeared in her vision, and she followed it to see a very bored-looking Unstable night guard plodding by their hiding place. She nearly stopped breathing, so shocked at how close to being _caught_ they'd been, but to her surprise, her teammate seemed to be containing laughter.

"I _love_ doing this," he whispered in her ear, the sound breaking the silence so slightly in such a carefree way that Leona suddenly found herself having fun, too. Aza'an checked to see the guard half-heartedly look left and right before turning around and passing by their hiding spot again, and when he was a few feet away, he whispered "run, run, run, run" and grabbed her hand as they darted out and leapt over a low stone fence. It was exciting and dangerous, and the lack of enthusiasm from the night guards they saw made it just easy enough to bring a smile to her face. At one point, they were so close to an Unstable man that she _saw_ his ears prick up, but he was so used to false alarms and boredom that he didn't even turn, even as her breath nearly whisked across his neck.

The pair stopped in between fleeing to vandalize walls, boxes, benches, lamp posts, houses, with rebellious propaganda. "Stop the tyranny!" "We are your children." "You gave us our greatest weapon—fear." "Hypocrisy!" "If you build your empire on an Unstable tide of blood, it will make you fall." "Resistance—join us."

As they entered the wealthiest district, the one that housed the Society's Palace, they had to be much more careful. The guards here were more used to burglaries and riots, so they were much more alert. Not to mention that some properties were magically protected, or low-ranking Society members eager to gain power prowled the streets for troublemakers. While balancing along a stone wall nearby the Head of Coin's estate, Leona's toe accidentally dipped too low, enough to set off the alarm. Both vandals shot panicked looks at each other before diving off the wall and into the decorative moat surrounding the place. They managed to swim across to the other side and run into the guardhouse whose inhabitant had just leapt out of to investigate the noise, but it was a close call, one that sobered them both.

Unfortunately, this mistake had cost them the element of surprise. Guards and Society members had woken up even more, and now moved in packs. Aza'an and Leona found themselves hiding much more than they'd needed to before, and Aza'an cautioned her that their next slip-up meant they had to flee for good.

The slip-up happened soon after that quick warning. Reaper Avenue was completely clear, and since they had personally witnessed that section's guards march off and spread out, they were relatively certain they'd have enough time to splatter at least one message on an estate gate before moving on. As they got halfway through the graffiti—the words currently read "If we live"—lights in an opposite manor snapped on, and an aging mage bellowed out of his bedroom window, "Unstable intruders! Guards! To Reaper Avenue!" while charging up energy to send lightning at the pair. Aza'an and Leona dropped their weapons of art, and before they dashed off, Aza'an threw a fire bomb to eliminate evidence as well as create a distraction.

Leona had no idea where they were going, but Aza'an seemed to have a set path, so she followed him as fast as she could. The past few weeks had strengthened her, and while she was still no seasoned athlete, she felt a slight surge of pleasure that she could keep up fairly decently. She heard the shouts of guards and heard the sizzle of magic and for a moment, panicked. But Aza'an fell back half a step to grab her hand and pull her around a corner, and suddenly they were weaving among debris and the skeletons of once-elegant manors. Aza'an put all his strength into running a perfect line, and Leona could only hold on as he dashed around a stony jumble of finery and dragged her through a shattered window. Broken glass and splinters caught in her armor as a rotting staircase they'd landed on collapsed into dust, and she landed on the elf in a heap as they crashed.

It took them both a few seconds to straighten up, dust off glass and wood and catch their breath, and when she'd recovered, Leona found herself in the basement of a manor. The ceiling was, surprisingly, fairly intact with the exception of the shattered staircase, and the scorched walls revealed the remains of tapestries. Judging by the piles of flour and sugar they'd landed on, as well as cabinets and counters and pantries and ovens and the like, they were hiding in the kitchen.

Leona froze as she heard footsteps thunder past, and then calmed herself as they faded away. She started again when she felt a hand on her shoulder and reached for her single-handed sword, but Aza'an's voice stopped her.

"It's fine. We're safe here." She turned to look at him, and his dark eyes were glowing with excitement. His sharp features were colored with exertion, but triumph was painted clearly there, too. He released her shoulder and climbed up the stone walls like there was a ladder, latching onto a small window above and peered out. "They're all gone now. We should be safe until morning."

"Thank the Maker," Leona wheezed, sagging onto the twine sacks with relief. Aza'an slid down next to her, stretching and sighing as his joints cracked and his muscles relaxed.

"That was an excellent run," he praised breathlessly. "We must've hit at least a hundred stops." Without moving his head, he slid his gaze over to her. "That's a new record. Thanks, Leona."

Leona turned pink with pleasure. "It was nothing," she muttered. "I just came along to learn."

He laughed a little at that, and the sound, caressing these lonely walls, sounded like bells. "For this type of work, you already know what to do the second you feel injustice has been done." Now he shifted his body towards her, looking her straight in the eyes. "You were incredible."

Leona reddened even more at the blatant appreciation and praise in his voice and, not knowing what to say to that, sheathed her sword. She felt a little silly just holding it in her hand, but her hands were shaking and she couldn't seem to slide metal into leather.

"Here, let me," Aza'an said quietly, grabbing her fingers with his long ones, plucking the sword out of her grasp. He rolled off his makeshift chair and leaned over her, re-sheathing the weapon into the sheath at her waist without letting go of her hand. As a human woman, she was about the same height as he, so Leona found herself staring straight into his dark brown eyes, and he into hers. Their faces were only about a foot apart, and with one of his hands on her waist and the other softly covering her fingers with the rest of him leaning over her, Leona realized she was getting nervous.

They couldn't hear each other breathing for one long, silent moment, and then Aza'an moved in to kiss her. Leona kissed him back almost instinctively, shutting her eyes as the warmth of him briefly overtook the chill in the air. As her hand moved of its own accord to brush the side of his face to deepen the kiss, her fingers felt silky, clean-shaven elven skin, and with that touch she was abruptly reminded of who he was, and where they were, and what they were doing. Horrified by her impulsive actions, she used the previously affectionate touch to move him away from her.

Aza'an responded by brushing his lips against her neck, probably misunderstanding her when she sharply said his name. "Aza'an," she repeated, and when he brought his face up to look at her, she asked him what they were doing.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired softly, brushing his hair back from his eyes. Both his arms were planted next to her head, so as she slid up to get herself in a sitting position, she found herself in somewhat of an embrace.

Leona took in his appearance and thought back to the moment when he'd kissed her. Looking at him now, so different from battle-ready Aza'an, confused her. She'd known Aza'an for a number of weeks now, and training so often and so hard with him for the most recent weeks made her think she knew him relatively well. Something about these few minutes seemed so…

Uncharacteristic.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked him, keeping up their volley of questions. Aza'an smirked at that in disbelief, but when she held his gaze seriously, he sighed and moved away, sitting next to her.

"If you're uncomfortable, I won't push you. What I _don't_ understand is why you're so."

"Me?" Leona parroted in shock. "It's _logical_ that I'm uncomfortable. First…" you're our leader, she thought, but didn't think that was a great argument. "First of all, this is very…sudden."

"Aren't all romances?" Aza'an shrugged at that. "We both just came from a successful raid together, so we're excited; we're in an enclosed area and we're safe; and we both are friends. It makes sense."

"But that's _another_ of my points," Leona argued. "This is _hardly_ the place for such…activities. I'd say getting out of here alive trumps a quick _fling_. There's danger everywhere. And…" seeing something change almost unnoticeably in his eyes, she continued triumphantly, "…and I think you _know_ all this. I think you're testing me on discipline. I think you want to see if I can still be aware of myself and my surroundings even if I'm confronted with something much more tempting. I think you're seeing if I'd be able to hold my own against maleficarum illusions, or desire demons." When she saw Aza'an smile crookedly, she crossed her arms over her chest proudly. With the satisfaction came a brief pang of hurt. For a moment, she'd almost succumbed to Aza'an's touch. He was an attractive man, one that she respected and liked very much, and finding out that the caresses were false and that all he'd been doing was teaching her a lesson stung. She comforted herself by knowing that he'd done it _out _of affection for her and her safety.

"I'm not surprised," Aza'an grinned, softly applauding her. "But I still needed to find out how you'd react in a situation where you didn't think you'd _need_ to prove to me that you were still in control of yourself. Well done." He surveyed the dusty room around them, and abruptly his smile fell, replaced by a darker look.

"Do you know to whom this house used to belong?" In typical Aza'an fashion, he waited for her to guess an answer to such an impossible question, and she tried to make a reasonable response, saying that she assumed it was the home of some important mage that the rebellion had torched.

"On the contrary." Aza'an paused for a bit before continuing. "My mother was a Dalish Keeper from Fereldan who was being chased by the Chantry. Her entire clan was dead, save for her bond and herself. Their clan had strayed too close to an area where the Veil was thin, and the previous Keeper had become possessed by a demon. In his struggles to free himself, the Keeper had gone insane, burning down sections of the forest and one small village. The Chantry found out and went after the entire clan, destroying both them and the Keeper in their attempts to stop all the death. My parents managed to evade them for a time, fleeing across the country with the templars constantly behind them."

Leona stared at her friend as he told the story, amazed and curious as to how he knew all this. All she knew of her parents was that they were average Tangen mages, and that was all. Aza'an kept on weaving his tale, his tone emotionless.

"My mother knew about Tangen, of course, and she managed to convince my father to make the journey with her, though at this point they knew she was with child. My mother called upon all her training in wild magic, and received aid from creatures that live deep below the sea to carry them to Tangen. But when they arrived, my father refused to resort to Unstable standards and practically become worthless, so the Society killed him.

"My mother was heartbroken, but didn't let it show. She sold all her exotic Dalish valuables to interested collectors and merchants and managed to buy a fairly large manor…the one we're hiding in currently." Leona looked around the kitchen and shivered. She felt like there were ghosts here. "She just wanted to be left alone. Since my father was killed on sight at their arrival, and since she'd seen the hypocritical behavior that the Society displayed to untalented humans and elves, all she wanted to do was leave, but of course she wasn't permitted, especially since by this point she was heavy with child.

"When the baby was due to arrive, my mother refused all help from any healers and delivered me herself. But what she didn't know was that she was having twins, and because she wasn't prepared, my twin brother died. She knew right away that I, who still lived, possessed no magic ability, and she refused to let the Society take me away. She hid me with magic, and when the Society came to check on the new baby, they found my mother in tears, holding my dead brother. The Society didn't know that I still lived, and so once again my mother was left alone.

"I was raised here, secretly. My mother supported the rebellion the entire time, so I grew up hearing about less lucky children, and the insanity of the Society. The government didn't find out, but they _did_ get tipped off about my presence. They were going to merely imprison my mother and take me away, but then they found out from a spy that we were also actively involved with assisting the uprising, and that was inexcusable. The resistance found out that they were going to destroy our house, fortunately, so they came in time to save us. But my mother wouldn't go with them, saying she was tired of running from deluded fools, so she made them take me with them while the Society obliterated her manor, with her still inside. I was fourteen—elves age slower than humans after all, so I was really much too young, but ever since then I've done all I can to stop these horrors."

Aza'an looked her straight in the eyes then, looking determined and hardened, and Leona found herself incapable of speech. "I feel like if we keep this up, soon all this will _end_, Leona," he said with vigor. "For better or for worse. A lot of my men have started to view our efforts as a war that will never end, and some of them have just stopped trying—or worse, tried to betray us. I have a lot of faith in you, and I _need_ you. I know you're passionate about this, and though they're for your own reasons, I'm indescribably grateful for your help. There are so few of us that feel like we can do something, and even fewer who actually _act._ I can't stress enough how badly we need your strength, or how much better it is for our chances of success that you're still with us."

Again, Leona couldn't say anything, but managed a strong nod. Aza'an looked relieved to see the strength in her eyes, and he began rearranging bags of flour and sugar as a makeshift bed. "Tomorrow," he said, with less severity, "we must run back to camp. You'll meet Xavier later in the day. And please, please demonstrate the same discipline, intelligence and determination towards him that you did for me, today and the past few weeks. Since it's _him_, you'll need it."

As Leona made her own bed, she knew that despite Aza'an's seemingly relaxed posture, he was wide awake, and she could almost hear his brain thrumming with plans she could only hope to someday comprehend. It was a long time before she could get her own brain to shut up enough so she could sleep.

She felt that tonight had just set a chain of events in motion, and she knew that the basic laws of physics said that objects in motion always remain in motion. Leona just hoped she'd be able to catch up.

**A/N: And that scene, while listening to Resistance on a bus ride last month, was what gave me the idea for the story. Hence why it's not written well. See you next chapter.**


	3. Desires

**AN: Well, hey there! It's time for your summer installment of A Resistance! In theory, that means I'll have chapter 4 up by August, but you know me and saying-I-shouldn't-take-long-which-means-I'll-take-almost-a-year! Anyway, here it is. In my defense, it was done in January—I just ran into complications getting it up. Don't judge me.**

Talysse clapped her hands in delight and wrapped Alistair in a hug as large as her small arms could allow, crying, "I knew you wouldn't abandon me, you shining paragon of courage!" Alistair did not look much happier at this outburst, gently prying himself from her grasp.

"The captain said that we'll be having stormy weather for a few days, which means I can't hide from you on deck anymore," Alistair said with a sigh. He stomped over to sit in a chair in the corner of Talysse's chambers, looking sulky.

After hearing Talysse's plan yesterday, Alistair had been appalled (for no real reason, Talysse thought) and had stormed off, saying he'd do everything _his_ way. She hadn't believed him, figuring he'd agree sooner or later, so she was heartily tempted to get on her knees and pray to the Maker for offering this reason for Alistair to succumb so quickly.

Talysse followed him, standing perfectly straight in front of his perch until he met her gaze. "Alistair," she informed him once she'd locked her steely blue stare to his sad brown-eyed puppy dog look, "this won't work if you won't even _try_. Please promise me you'll actually work at this. Otherwise, we're going to die."

Alistair muttered something non-committal. "Alistair," she chided in a motherly fashion.

"All right," he mumbled. When her silence conveyed her disapproval, he raised his hands in surrender. "All right! I promise! I see your point!"

"Thank you," she said with real meaning. She pulled her desk chair closer to the king and sat, lacing her fingers together in a business-like fashion. Alistair nervously glanced at the small cuts decorating aforementioned fingers, and though Talysse caught the look, she acted like she hadn't. "The thing that will be the most difficult for this—ignoring your silly moral qualms—is that you've been trained to harden your mind against maleficarum attempts to seize it. So, this isn't going to work instantly.

"However, we _do_ know that this discipline can be broken. If we remember from that cheerful Saving the Circle Tower adventure we had a few years ago, many templars eventually succumbed to blood magic, and allowed their minds to be taken over."

"And then they _died_," Alistair added nastily. "And the only one who survived was your precious Cullen, who wasn't exactly left perfectly cheerful."

Talysse tried her best not to glare, knowing it'd worsen the situation. "But this is _me_, Alistair," she said as soothingly as she could, despite her restrained exasperation. "I wouldn't try to tempt you with illusions with the intent of killing you. In fact, unless the situation calls for it, I'm not even going to make you do anything. All I need to do is establish my presence in your head." She winced at how she worded that, but it was the best she could do. _All I want is your brain_ definitely wouldn't help, after all.

The look her friend gave her informed her that he didn't like that sentence, either. "I know," he said with hesitation, "and I trust you, Talysse, but unless you've got some brilliant idea for…for _breaking my resolve_, I don't know how this is going to work."

Talysse explained with an optimism she didn't feel, "This is all in your hands, Alistair. Whether or not this plan succeeds is _all _up to you. I'll be barely doing anything at all, and the rest will all be your doing. After all, you're in control of your own body."

"If I succeed I won't be."

"Yeah, you will, because it will be thanks to _your_ decision to let me in."

Alistair only looked slightly appeased, but Talysse decided that _slightly_ was better than _not at all_, and so she began her work.

"Okay. Now then, I want you to concentrate on all the reasons you're doing this, and then remind yourself that this is Talysse Surana, your best friend, who's not going to hurt you."

"Because you forced me, because I don't want to die, because I can't hide from you forever, and because you _will_ hurt me if I don't comply," Alistair chanted.

Talysse calmly reached over and picked up the same pamphlet from a few days ago that she'd used to hit Alistair with. Alistair had time only to read the "ALISTAIR-HITTING DEVICE" title she'd inked over the cover with before it came crashing down on his head.

While Alistair rubbed his still-uninjured head and sulked, Talysse stared him down. "Are we ready to cooperate?" she asked him coolly.

"Yes, we are," her friend sighed.

* * *

Leona awoke to the sound of joints cracking, and immediately after she realized what she was hearing, she was struck with an overwhelming sense of discomfort. Sleeping on bags of flour wasn't exactly the most luxurious thing in the world, and so after she rolled herself off her bed, she began following Aza'an's wise example. While stretching, Aza'an quietly apologized to her for allowing the both of them to sleep as late as ten AM—which was the current time—and so they had to depart immediately. He allowed her about thirty seconds to work out the kinks in her back and wake up enough to run, and while she was doing so, stacked up crates against the wall in order to climb out of the sole broken window.

He cleared off as much of the sharp bits as he could before climbing out himself and helping her up. It was, mercifully, a cloudy day, allowing more shadows and giving them a chance to hope that the Society would be sleeping in today. Another mercy was the fact that, in the ruined district, it was extremely unlikely that anyone would be strolling through.

Weaving their way around blocks of marble and burnt foundations was easy enough, and the only slight bits of excitement were when they had to hide from very bored-looking guards for a few minutes. The daylight and the lack of immediate danger made even these rare instances boring, however, and Leona was almost disappointed when they finally reached the safety of the beach tunnels.

"Well, that was horribly dull," Aza'an joked as they made their way through the underground paths to the cave. Leona grinned, a smile that fell once they reached the fork. The last time she'd passed through this area, it had been nighttime, and she was too preoccupied with the promise of adventure to pay attention. However, what with the thrill wearing off, she noticed that one section of the fork was caved in. The unnerving bit was that the rocks blocking said passageway didn't look entirely stable, which meant that if high tide was particularly strong one day, the rocks could become loose and injure someone. She pointed this out to Aza'an, and he frowned and surveyed the mess for a few moments.

"The trouble is, I'm not sure what to do about it," he admitted, "besides warn everyone to give it a wide berth in these narrow halls. And if someone gets caught in high tide, chances are they'll die anyway; rocks wouldn't make them any less dead."

Leona called on her budding discipline to banish any thoughts of horror on the subject matter. "Where did the tunnels lead to before the blockage? Was it anywhere important?"

Aza'an laughed a little and began walking from where he'd paused to study the fork. "We only discovered these tunnels a few days before our daring rescue of a certain redheaded human woman," he informed her. "By that point, we were already planning the raid and only took a brief amount of time to figure out where each tunnel end led and how to get everyone through safely. In fact, I think it's the first time I've noticed the blockage." His embarrassed grin fell back into a thoughtful frown. "That's not good. I think you're right, Leona; we need to be more vigilant in these things."

Though Leona hadn't been meaning to criticize or undermine Aza'an's rule, she was glad that he seemed to approve of her nonexistent suggestion, and so kept this fact a secret the entire way back.

Lara pounced on the two as soon as they reentered the cave. "_Xavier_ is here," she hissed at them unhappily. The way she pronounced it was quite different from how Aza'an's elvish accent had distorted it, pronouncing the name as "zav-YAY" instead of "ZAYV-i-ehr". While Leona was deducing that the man in question was probably Orlesian, Lara continued her irritated whispering. "He won't stop teasing the newer recruits, and whenever I make the _mistake_ of being too close, he pesters me about where in the blighted pit _you_ two are!"

"Did he really ask 'where in the blighted pit' we were?" Aza'an asked, looking pleased. "Looks like Xavier is finally losing that irritating cool of his."

Lara looked like she wanted to hit the elf. "Just please, go over to him and make him _stop_."

Aza'an nodded and jerked his head, silently asking Leona to follow him into the back of camp.

It didn't take long to arrive, but even from a distance she could almost _feel_ the man in question's magic. Her barely-honed templar senses tingled with the sensation.

True to Lara's word, there did indeed appear to be a man speaking with some very flustered-looking new recruits. Both were female and almost too young to be allowed. Leona couldn't see much of a difference between the two, other than the fact that one was very, very red and the other was very, very white. When the red one noticed Aza'an and Leona's approach, she squeaked out a "bye, Xavier!" before skittering away, her sister (maybe?) traipsing after her.

"I see you've wasted no time in preying on our weak and defenseless," Aza'an said in a tired voice. "You're no different from any other mage, Xavier."

Xavier turned around with a huge white smile, making the wisps of his blond beard stand slightly on end. "Aza'an!" he cried, holding out his robed arms in delight. "What an absolute pleasure to see you again!" Yep. Very heavy Orlesian accent.

_Accent, avec "tuh". Excusez-moi_. Leona giggled to herself at her unfunny joke.

"And I see you've brought yet another plaything for me?" Xavier continued, shifting his gaze from the leader to Leona.

"Of course."

Xavier clicked his tongue. "You never call me for a social visit, do you, Aza'an?" he sighed in disappointment. "Always work, work, work! Never just to say 'oh, hello, Xavier! How are you doing?'"

"Never." Leona thought she heard an exasperated amusement in Aza'an's voice, though she couldn't be sure.

"Ah, perhaps if I cannot entice a friendly greeting out of our tireless leader, perhaps I can receive something friendly from _you,_ eh, my dear?" Leona's mind had been drifting, so when the sudden silence alerted to her the fact that the statement was directed at her, her neck snapped to face Xavier, feeling stupid.

"Uh, me?" Xavier laughed loudly at that, causing the entire cave to ring with his amusement.

"She speaks! Yes, _you_. But it seems Aza'an has not trained you well enough, if your attention is diverted so easily. Ever vigilant, ever disciplined—something like that—and yet this one seems to be lacking, I see."

Leona could _feel_ Aza'an stiffen—even if the comment wasn't quite serious—as he replied, "Leona did quite well on her first run last night."

Xavier raised his eyebrows at the shorter man. "Ah, yes, I seem to recall something about that. You did a fine job repainting my store. It makes my home look like some alienage hovel."

"Well, you know we have to absolve you of suspicion," Aza'an said lightly. "We wouldn't want to seem like we're sparing you."

"What's an alienage?" Leona the Ever-Ignorant piped up. No one paid her any mind.

"Indeed, and you're certainly _not_ sparing me, are you? Forcing me to work with such green recruits—it's painful, my dear Aza'an!" Xavier feigned agony, clutching his heart and squeezing his eyes shut. Aza'an's only response was to nudge Leona forward a little bit with a cheery 'have fun' as he spun around and walked to the other edge of camp.

"Uh…Aza'an?" Naturally, he didn't answer. Feeling even stupider, Leona turned back to face her new teacher.

"I'm afraid he's gone, Cannon Fodder," Xavier informed her cheerily. "You are stuck with me now. Are you ready?"

"Don't I get to warm up first?"

The reply came in form of a giant fireball spiraling towards her, and she barely had enough time to dispel the most lethal flames before she gave up and cowered in a ball, a few feet away from her tormenter.

"I think I will start a betting pool on you," a disembodied Orlesian accent remarked through the smoke. "I give you ten seconds of life in battle, tops. Never let it be said I don't have faith in my students."

* * *

"Alistair! Stop it! You will last _ten seconds_, tops, if you keep on freaking out at me!" Talysse grabbed her carafe of lyrium potion with trembling fingers, though Alistair couldn't tell if it was out of annoyance or weakness.

"I can't help it," he whined. "Templar abilities don't just _go away_, you know."

"Templar abilities," Talysse repeated, sloshing blue potion down her throat before continuing, "aren't something separate from you. You _can_ control them! For example, if you swing a sword towards me, my first instinct will be to cast a shield; that doesn't mean that, with work, I can't control that instinct. You're just not _trying_."

"Look, I didn't _mean_ to Holy Smite you—"

"Yes, you _did_! That's my point!"

Alistair took a deep, calming breath. It didn't help much. "Okay, Talysse. I'm sorry. Let's try this again."

She shook her head in denial. "So you can rip me to shreds when you smite me again? I don't think so. I need some time to recharge my mana and figure out what to do with you. Until I send for you, I want you to sit in your room and think on—"

"What a bad boy I am?"

By the Maker, if Talysse had any mana left, she would have zapped him. "No, you insufferable clod!" she shrieked instead. "You need to think on _how to make this work_! I am so damn _tired_ of you not taking this seriously! With the way you carry on, it's a wonder how I managed to keep you alive during the Blight!"

The temperature in the room fell to freezing levels. "You _managed_ to keep me alive, did you?" Alistair repeated, just as frostily as the air was.

Talysse's heart fed itself to her stomach as she calmed the rage in her head. "Alistair, I—you know what I mean. I'm just exhausted, and feeling vulnerable, and—"

Alistair took a deep, loud breath and paused for a few seconds before giving her a surprisingly peaceful smile. "Yeah, I know. I've been kind of a lout, haven't I?" Before she could deny this (true) statement, he waved her off and continued. "Sorry, Talysse; this is making me feel vulnerable, too, and if you get scary and nasty when you feel threatened, I get even dumber."

Well, didn't _that_ make her feel like a terrible person, even if it wasn't supposed to be taken that way. "Oh, Alistair, you don't get _dumber_. And this isn't your entire fault. I should have made us take a break a while ago. Why don't we call it quits for a few days?" she suggested, offering an olive branch. "Don't you have—I don't know—some templar meditation exercises that might calm you down and help with our current situation?"

Alistair grinned at Talysse's awkward not-quite-apology. "Yeah, I do. Seems like a good idea to me. You, uh, don't happen to have anything like that for mages or something?"

Talysse was already walking back to the little corner where she "lived". "Sure I do. It's called Blue Amnesia. Bitch of a drink that restores your mana and makes you forget all your woes at the same time."

Alistair shook his head, more than a little amused. "Try not to get too wasted. I'll see you tomorrow."

The elf only toasted an uncorked bottle of periwinkle liquid to her king's retreating form and took a long gulp.

* * *

"You are not _trying_, Cannon Fodder. What, do you expect these skills to just 'happen'?" Leona's mentor taunted her, his Orlesian accent reverberating around their side of the cavern. The frightened redhead was hiding behind one of the large boulders that littered the unfinished area, trying to calm her shaking breathing. This was the fifth fireball in a row she'd managed to hide from, and she was wondering how long her luck would last.

How could Aza'an leave her alone with this madman? The mage seemed intent on roasting her; maybe he'd used blood magic on Aza'an and was planning on destroying the resistance from the inside, starting with the templars-to-be. Though this idea seemed quite illogical, Leona didn't have much time to think on what else the man's problem could be. The boulder closest to her hiding spot exploded in a blast of rock, leaving Leona's retreat the last potential hiding spot in the region. At the blast, a few interested rebels turned their heads in the direction of the noise, caught sight of Xavier, and continued what they were doing.

Leona's breaths came in shorter time intervals the closer Xavier's leisurely footsteps came, certain she was going to die. A dim part of her mind alerted her to the fact that her panicking and anger and fear was completely blocking her templar abilities, but the aforementioned panicking and anger and fear was slowly overwriting that thought.

"Ah, Cannon Fodder…" Xavier chiding from right in front of her hiding place was what cleared her mind. All emotions were zapped out of existence at his voice with the certainty of one's own death, and with that, Leona felt energy buzzing through her system. With her now-empty mind, she unsheathed her greatsword and slowly rose from her cowardly crouching, surprising Xavier mid-condescending-rant as she calmly revealed herself.

She sort of heard the mage swear in Orlesian as she brought her greatsword crashing down on his arm, but she definitely heard him scream. She lifted her arms again, prepared for the final blow, when all of a sudden an Aza'an-foot-shaped foot kicked her sword almost out of her grasp, and it was only surprise that managed to keep ahold of it.

"Leona, it's fine, just stop," the elf's voice was saying repeatedly, and after the third round or so the message finally struck through Leona's brain. Her vision stopped being Xavier-oriented and suddenly, Aza'an sprang into her line of sight.

"Oh, hi, Aza'an," she said without thinking. Aza'an, to his credit, only laughed once, exasperated.

"Hi, Leona," he greeted her. "Are you going to stop breaking Xavier's bones, or are you going to continue on your rampage?"

True enough, Xavier was kneeling on the ground, a grimace contorting his features as he nursed a nasty, bloody-looking arm. He laughed hoarsely. "Thank blessed Andraste she's not skilled enough with a greatsword to cut my arm right off," he said, managing to mock her even in his vulnerable position. Asshole.

"He was trying to kill me," she defended herself. Aza'an looked back at the mage.

"You were going a little rough on her, Xavier," he criticized. "You could've toned it down a bit."

"Will the Society mages go easy on her? No. No, they won't. I was only trying to help."

"No, you weren't," Aza'an said tiredly. "You were bored with your spirit massage clinic and wanted to use primal magic on a newbie fighter to vent your caged-up battle feelings."

"Oh, yes. I suppose that's true as well." Aza'an turned away in annoyance.

"Just clean yourself up. I'll talk to Leona." True enough, a greenish light seemed to be seeping out of Xavier's uninjured fingers and into the wound. The blood flow had even stopped already.

The rebels moved a few paces away from the healing man. Leona shuffled her feet awkwardly when they stopped, and looked at the ground. "Am I in trouble?"

"What?" Aza'an looked startled, as if he'd been thinking about something else. "No! Well, not really."

"'Not really'?"

"It's great that you're able to get rid of restricting emotions in order to focus on your templar skills, but it's _not_ good that you went into a haze like that. That's what the Chantry had their templars be like, and no one on this island is a fan of that method. You need to be able to turn that kind of thinking on and off at will. Xavier will teach you that."

Leona's mouth fell open. "You don't mean to say that he's coming _back_?"

Aza'an raised his eyebrows in an expression close to cool disdain. "I did say, last night, that you'd need to work on your mental discipline with him, didn't I?" Leona blushed in embarrassment, and Xavier took that as his cue to reenter.

"Are we finished for today, Aza'an? My arm has been returned to its original state." Indeed, it seemed to be completely healthy, as if it had never been injured. Xavier caught her gaping and winked. "Tangen accepts only the most powerful mages, my dear," he reminded her, and Leona made a point of looking away.

"Yeah, we are," Aza'an told the mage. "Your camp gear has already been prepared. You've got the bedroll next to Rory's, over there." He pointed the location out to the mage, and with a nod, Xavier departed.

"He's staying here?"

"It's not every day Xavier gets to sleep with young rebel girls," Aza'an sighed, though the exasperation was directed at the departing mage rather than the redhead beside him. "On a more serious note, we can't risk having the Society wonder where Xavier travels to every day and trail him back to here."

"They don't suspect him now?"

"Xavier tells them he's traveling into the woods for 'spiritual meditation' or something."

The two entertained themselves by observing the mage they were speaking of hit up one of the girls he'd been speaking to earlier. He seemed to have been successful, as the pair could see the girl's blush from their distance as she followed him back to wherever he was staying. Leona grinned, a little embarrassed that Aza'an hadn't been kidding about Xavier's oversexed nature. Soon after that, Aza'an bid her goodnight, and she decided to turn in as well, suddenly feeling exhausted, both physically and mentally.

* * *

Alistair sat cross-legged on the boards of his quarters, breathing in and out with the rising and falling of the ship on the waves. It was a peaceful exercise, one that cleared his mind to focus on nothing but his own breathing. He tried to meditate like this as often as possible, but with all the tension and concern he'd been feeling for the past few days about blood magic, he'd neglected his relaxation duties. His body had soaked up the tranquility almost as soon as he'd begun meditation, and today and the previous two days had been almost uninterrupted sessions of bliss and peace.

Unfortunately, today marked the end of his and Talysse's three-day "vacation", and everything he knew about his elven friend told him that she'd been eager to get back to work after the first day. There was no telling how antsy she'd be right now.

The king of Fereldan released a very ungentlemanly snort, throwing off the rhythm he'd had going. At dinner yesterday, Talysse had even brought all her ancient documents and texts and whatnot to the communal table and had made a point of leafing through them while she ate. The most notable (and most Talysse-like) thing that had happened was when she had offered him an "interesting document that I think you might want to take a look at, Alistair" and then had unconvincingly thought it over and retracted the paper from his outstretched hand, reminding them both that "we're on break, sorry, I forgot". Talysse, unlike her husband, was not an Antivan Crow, and therefore not exactly trained in the arts of subtlety.

However, she _did_ know a few things about magic, and Alistair believed her when she said that blood magic would be their key into Tangen. Though he wasn't quite comfortable of allowing all his thoughts to be picked apart by his morally ambiguous friend, he at least recognized that without his hard work, they were going nowhere. And unfortunately for the both of them, Alistair had no idea what to do.

Sure, the days at the Chantry had been the most miserable of his life, but that wasn't to say that the teachings hadn't stuck. What Talysse didn't seem to understand was that there wasn't a "Templar Power" lever in his mind that, when pushed upon, would switch that style of thinking off. Well, okay, maybe she understood a little bit, but that didn't make it any easier. His templar discipline wouldn't allow for…

Alistair's eyes sprang open in realization, and then he squeezed them back shut and began to meditate in earnest.

* * *

"She's been gone for months," Nathaniel hissed, stalking about the throne room with the air of a caged lion. The rest of the Mother-slaying Wardens watched him do so with idle interest.

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Howe," Anders drawled, sounding like they'd had this conversation enough to last a lifetime. "She would've 'been gone for months' if she'd gone to Antiva, and you wouldn't have complained."

"This is different," the archer snapped, whirling around to glare at the mage. "The Commander has gone chasing after a myth, and who knows if she'll return? It's irresponsible."

"She has the king of your country accompanying her, does she not?" Velanna interjected. "I doubt his wife would have permitted him to go along if she doubted the Commander's judgment."

"Say, speaking of the old ball-and-chain, d'you know if Talysse ever sent a letter to that assassin or not?" Anders asked. "I'd hate to wake up to find my throat slit in anger just because of an absent-minded error."

There was silence. "Why don't you ask the flat-ear that when he comes visiting?" Velanna smiled after a bit. "Provided your windpipe is still able to make sounds, that is."

* * *

The flat-eared husband in question had not, as a matter of fact, received a letter, and after however many months it had been, he'd started to get worried. He hadn't exactly counted down the days until his beloved's arrival—he'd had some very pressing Crow business to "take care of" for a while—and when he'd realized that the date had come and gone, he hadn't been overly concerned. Talysse was often a few days off schedule, and she had quickly drilled into him not to worry if she was a tad late, because most of the time she was simply forgetful and had had to hail a boat in a hurry. But when two weeks had gone by, Zevran's paranoia returned. He had penned a message as soon as the concern arose (like a certain elven mage _should have sodding done_) and had waited another two weeks for a response.

The fact that he had received none was extremely worrisome. Talysse had told her messengers that letters addressed to her from Antiva were not items to ring the alarm about, and if she wasn't writing back, that meant the letters hadn't gotten delivered. Why? Because she wasn't there. Zevran thought about writing to the seneschal to demand where she was, but decided it wasn't worth it. No messenger would want to give a message from Antiva to the current ruler of Amaranthine (provided Talysse wasn't there), and Zevran was not in the mood to waste his time. Besides, even if somehow the message _had_ gotten through, he was sure that the man would only be confused. The Warden Commander, savior of Fereldan and responsible arlessa of Amaranthine? Certainly she wouldn't be so foolish as to _not tell her husband what was so important that she had to cancel her trip without telling him why_?

Just thinking about it made Zevran irrationally angry. She'd always been an infuriating woman to deal with, and most of the time her good points more than made up for her flaws. But it was times like this that made the Crow wonder why he didn't just tell her that the ride had been fun, but now it was time to move on.

Zevran paused to think about that. Well, okay, maybe not _so _extreme. But still, he was in a rage. He squinted against the wind and pulled his brand-new fur-lined coat around his shoulders tighter. He'd forgotten how unpleasant Fereldan weather was. As soon as the one-month mark had flown by with still no word from Talysse Surana, he'd put his affairs under the command of the Crow underling her distrusted the least and had boarded the first ship to Fereldan he could find. He'd been traveling for a while now, and was starting to get sick of boats. And worry. And anger. The cold weather did nothing to cool his rage, after all. If anything, it enflamed it.

"_We should be arriving in Amaranthine port in a week or so, ser_," the first mate told him in Antivan, as if he could sense the elf's thoughts. Zevran hid his scowl at the idea. Concern was making him more paranoid than usual.

"_Finally_," he laughed, once and harsh. "_You'll forgive me if I tell you that, while I won't be happy to be in Fereldan, I'll be happy to get off this damned ship_."

The man grinned in response. "_The life of the sea isn't for everyone. I hope the frigid temperatures are indeed more to your liking._"

Zevran forced another laugh, and the other man departed. Fuck you, too, sailor. He hoped the ship sank on its way out of Amaranthine. Maybe the man wouldn't be so fond of the sea when it was invading his lungs. Then again, sailors were practically a breed of their own. He might be ecstatic that his beloved ocean was invading his body.

Damned sailors. Damned sea. Damned _Talysse Surana_. Zevran bit back several dirty curses about all three irritations before deciding to head back to his cabin. Moping out here, where everyone could see him, wasn't helping his mood.

* * *

"I've done it, Talysse!" Alistair practically screeched, bursting through the door. A rather frazzled-looking elf glared at him from the overflowing desk where she sat, and Alistair's mood faltered a bit.

"Finally learned to use the ship's privy all by yourself, did you?" Ouch. Alistair flushed a bit, swallowing his indignation, and decided that he'd have to be chipper enough for the both of them.

Stupid moody elf mage.

"You all right there, Talysse?" he asked, plopping himself down in the chair closest to her.

Talysse didn't quite want to admit it, but Alistair's success at whatever he was beaming about was grating on her. Their break from each other hadn't yielded many results, and the fact that _Alistair_ of all people had managed to accomplish _anything_ wasn't making her feel very good about herself. Not that Alistair had never accomplished anything on his own, but she rather suspected she knew what he'd managed. Though it was immature, and hearing him out would undoubtedly be beneficial, she wasn't quite in the mood to listen.

"There's a small crate under my bed," she told him instead. "Grab the strongest-looking bottle you can find and give it here."

Alistair instinctively looked where she referred to, but didn't move. "Since when did you become an alcoholic?"

"Since you started figuring things out faster than me."

"Ah, that has _always _been that way." Alistair grinned, but Talysse only gazed at him blankly. Alistair tried out a staring contest, but after he won six rounds in a row, he gave in to his exasperation. "Can I share my truly excellent news now, or not?"

Talysse sighed. "Okay, sorry. I'm just very stressed. The captain says we'll be at the coordinates in a matter of days. We'll either be on the Best Adventure of our Young Lives then, or we'll have to turn around and go home. It's pretty...I dunno. _Stressful_."

"Well, perhaps I can relieve some of that tension." Talysse gave him a creepy smirk that gave him the feeling that he'd missed out on a joke, but he blundered forth anyway. "I was meditating the other day, and…I think I know how to let you use blood magic on me!"

He let his super fantastic news dangle in the air for a few seconds, but Talysse looked as though she'd expected it. Oh, well. "Well? You going to share with the rest of the class, or are we going to try another 'experiment'?"

"Why am I still friends with you?"

"Because I found you a sexy blonde wife."

"Ah, yes, of course; that's the only reason. Anyway, templars keep their minds clean by focusing only on the task at hand, and to keep in control of their own thoughts while also following orders without question. So I was thinking, if I convince my mind that letting you do this _is _duty, I'll automatically let you do what you want with me!"

He grinned, but again, Talysse didn't seem extraordinarily impressed. "That's pretty vague stuff, Alistair. Sounds to me like at the end of the day I'm going to have to be drinking a lot of lyrium."

"No, because blood magic doesn't use mana, right? And I can assure you I won't Smite you again. Besides, you're not going to be invading my mind _much_, right?"

Talysse blinked a few times, then smiled tiredly. "I'd tell you that this sounds pretty illogical—"

"You just _did_."

"—but it's your mind, and you know the tricks it falls for. Let's try it out. We're running low on options, anyway."

Alistair found that willing his mind to relax was suddenly much easier than usual, even as Talysse drew out her pocket knife—nicknamed Cheese Knife—to begin work. Talysse was no healer, and the small cuts already littering her stick-thin arms weren't all quite healed, dried poultices cementing the wounds together. It was gruesome, to be sure, but it gave Alistair something to occupy his mind while Talysse began her preparations.

He didn't notice the magic affecting him at first; sure, he could feel it in the air, but it had to reach even his skin yet. That must mean that Talysse was hesitating. He cleared his mind of any doubting thoughts and focused on the elf's healing cuts. The cuts weren't even that deep, but the greenish salves gave them a kind of pus-filled look, and frankly it was pretty disg—

Templar senses immediately alerted him to Talysse's first foray into his mind, and he instinctively began clearing his mind. Talysse withdrew as soon as she felt resistance, but by that point he'd mouthed an apology to her and continued on clearing his mind. Duty, Alistair. This is for the sake of all of Thedas.

Another adventurous tendril of magic waved hello, and Alistair shuddered once before letting it pass. More waves of magic followed, and it became easier and easier to lower his guard and allow Talysse do her thing. Eventually, he didn't have to think about it at all, and he would have been more disturbed by this if his mind would allow him to.

Without warning, the magic weaving its haze over his mind suddenly snapped like a vice, if magic can be said to do such a thing, and Alistair Theirin was under Talysse's complete control. She froze, staring at his blank expression, before exploding in disbelieving—but triumphant—laughter. Alistair only gazed placidly back.

* * *

"Good morning, Cannon Fodder," Xavier greeted her cheerfully when they reconvened in the back of camp once more. Leona only stared coldly back.

"Ah, what a mean face she makes! Do not frown so much, my dear; it stretches your face and will leave wrinkles." Leona tried to contort her expression into something still disdainful but without giving him cause to criticize, but found the task impossible.

Son of a bitch.

"Are we going to get down to business," she asked with a toughness she didn't feel, "or are you going to keep giving me beauty tips?"

"Well, if you wish to hear which I would _prefer_…"

"I wouldn't."

Xavier's throat bubbled with laughter, and irrational hatred surged up within the redhead. He calmed himself faster than she did, thankfully, and relaxed into a battle stance.

"Very well, I shall indulge you," he said. "Aza'an came crying to me and asking me to baby you, so baby you I shall. If you die in battle because you were unprepared, we will _stop_ crying to Xavier and ask him to fix it. Agreed?"

Leona didn't respond, other than drawing her greatsword. She'd spent her typical amount of time cleaning and taking care of it yesterday, so (unfortunately) Xavier's blood had been washed away, but still the mage gave it a cautious glance. The sight gave Leona a mean little surge of pleasure.

The first spell sent her way was a painfully slow puff of fire, and Leona didn't even bother purging it of its magical ability. When three more followed, she dropped her sword in exasperation and glared daggers at the man.

"You are being extremely unhelpful."

"And you are extremely weak."

_Calm yourself, girl_, Leona reminded herself, feeling her fingers reaching towards the weapon leaning against her side. _Templar discipline_. "I'm going to start out weak, of course, but I'll get stronger if you _teach_ me. Aza'an will be pretty upset with you if I die because you did a terrible job of teaching me."

Xavier grinned in response. "True, but Aza'an is always upset with me."

"Wouldn't it be nice if there was a moment when he was happy with you?"

Xavier seemed to be thinking this over, but Leona had the feeling he was only humoring her. "What a novel idea. I suppose it could be worth the effort, dealing with you."

Leona smiled back at him. "The feeling is mutual, ser; I assure you."

"What luck! Well, then, Cannon Fodder, let us both work towards the same goal: making sure Aza'an is happy with our efforts for at least fifteen minutes."

"I'm Leona," Leona said immediately, trying not to frown too profusely.

"Did you say something?"

"My name is Leona. Not 'Cannon Fodder'."

"Good for you," he chirped, clapping his hands together. Magic began to swirl around his fingers. "Now then, let us begin once more. Show me how it's done, oh templar-to-be."

* * *

Alistair came to with the feeling of having been asleep for a long time. His head was ringing like someone had stuffed his ears full of cotton, and he was focusing on this odd sensation for so long that it wasn't until an impatient cough alerted him to Talysse's presence.

"Oh, hey," he said in response. "You look pleased about something." And it was true: though she looked tired, a pleased smile was gracing her sharp features. It was a nice smile, too; not one of her scary, I Am About To Say Something That Gives Me Pleasure But Will Deeply Disturb You little grins.

"So I do," she responded. "Take a moment to think, Alistair-my-dear, and ponder on why I might be so pleased."

He did as she bid, taking time to search his memory. Something seemed unwilling to surface, but he mentally scratched at its locks and bindings until it finally broke free.

Talysse's smile grew, probably at his expression of realization. She started to speak, but soon found herself rendered unconscious as Alistair's templar instincts responded to the fact that he had let a blood magic tamper with his brain and decided to Holy Smite.

She woke up with her head throbbing a few moments later to find Alistair apologetically extending a hand in her direction. "We might need a bit more practice," he said, as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. "Oh, and by the way, congratulations."

Talysse only groaned and closed her eyes in frustration.

**AN: Reviews might make me write faster. Hell, we'll give it a shot. **


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